


An Ode to the Camel's Broken Back

by Guest_12



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Discussion of rape/non-con, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Past Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Manipulation, Slow Burn, ish, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guest_12/pseuds/Guest_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadpool had been sent on a mission from Captain America himself as a personal crisis arose for the Avengers, though Spiderman displays his violent reluctance in letting him follow through with success. Now, the stability of the youngest Avenger's mind and spirit is being put into question by his team and SHIELD's authority to the point where even the craziest of the spandexed world is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“YOU _CAN’T_ DO THIS, SPIDEY!” Wade pleas hysterically, rushing towards the bicolor-spandexed hero in a panicked frenzy as the willowy man readies to jump. His hands slip around the slender hips of the younger, gloved fingers trying to find traction as their arms hold tight with a rigid embrace. The champion cries out in shock while the mercenary lifts him and screams his curse as he is thrown haphazardously from the forty story drop with a swift toss, his body tumbling across the ashen gravel of the building’s roof before righting itself.  
  
“STAY _OUT_ OF MY _WAY,_ WILSON!” Spiderman hollers as he propels himself from the concrete flooring, a punch plunging a path towards the red clad man’s cheek. Instinctively, Wade rapidly guides the rushing fist away from his facial structure with a delicate tap and an ounce of pressure, only to find a web-detailed boot blurring towards his midriff in a crimson blur.  
  
White snuffs at the action, [Like that’ll do much.]  
{Abs of steel, BABY!} Yellow hoots in vigorous agreement, an edge of pride lacing his thoughts merrily. {Whoo!}  
[Well, actually, I was thinking more on the line that Spidey holds back a lot,] the paler box notes, [Whether we stay dead or not, _h’heeee_ doesn’t take to himself murdering quite as much; he was even hesitant when we had crossed him during our last unaliving job.]  
Yellow’s disgusted sneer resounds audibly within the mercenary’s mind as he caws with a saturated trace of finality, {“Holds back?” Tsk, nah, man! We’re just that awesome!}  
“This is _serious,”_ Wade growls openly as his hands dart for the agile extremity to encase it with a sturdy clutch, squeezing the taut limb with every degree of strength his grip could muster upon touch {With the amount of _alone_ time you’ve had to practice your _“handshake,”_ we shouldn’t be too worried} and feeling his immediate failure to halt the impelling force while the shin connects with its target. _{BOO!}_  
[Um, isn’t this kick going a little _faster_ than normal,] drawls White worriedly.  
“YES!” Wade screams frantically as his boot scrapes the back-lying ledge’s foot tall wall, his body twirling with the mad defender now flying in his hold.  
{Hmm?} Yellow chimes cheerily, {Nah, you guys are just being a bit paranoid.}  
[“A bit?” _“A BIT?!”_ Yellow, he _is_ paranoid. I _am_ paranoid. _YOU_ are paranoid! _WE’RE FUCKING PARANOID!!]_ White shrills. [IT COMES WITH BEING A FUCKING SCHIZOPHRENIC NUTJOB THAT GOT USED, ABUSED, AND BETRAYED BY EVERY CONCEIVABLE FUCKER WE’VE EVER MET!] A beat. [AND, I’M PRETTY SURE _SPIDERMAN IS TRYING TO_ KILL _US!]_  
Yellow giggles, {Oh, you’re so silly} Chuckles. {You --- _“Pretty.”}_  
  
The spider-mutated individual soars from the mercenary’s clasp as Wade releases him, thumping and rolling on the ridged ground before finding his well practiced rhythm and halting on the balls of his feet. Reflective eyes, gleaming in pastel and hive shapes, glare down the offending gun-for-hire as the nimble body marred in blue and red refuses to make its stand, the head twitching ever so slightly about the massive obstacle.  
{ _Oi!_ We’re not massive!} Yellow whines in protest.  
[We’re just big boned,] White deadpans in accord, opting to sound factual above his offended emotion.  
{And self-mutilating!}  
[And muscle.]  
{And _FAT!}_ Yellow shrieks in horrifying realization.  
[We,] White stutters to silence in the face of idiocy, correcting his momentum before continuing in an exhausted sigh, [We _can’t_ get _fat,_ you _idiot_.]  
{But, we eat all those TACOS AND _CARBS!}_ Yellow gripes sharply, {Jillian would be so PISSED!}  
[We have a healing factor that pretty much CURES DEATH!] White howls, his accented voice ringing madly inside their host’s head.  
{But, not _cancer_ \---} Yellow corrects cheerlessly.  
[Yeah,] drags White slowly and bleakly, [Except that.]  
“Resistant little fuckers,” snarls Wade, glaring down upon his spread hands lying before him as if to see the microscopic cells tarnishing his body with its destructive tenacity.  
{I miss Death,} the vibrant box sullenly reminisces, {She makes the best quesadyas.}  
[Hey, maybe we can let Spidey kill us,] suggests White with a high tune, [He seemed adamant about it before.]  
{Um,} Yellow hums, a query hanging behind an imaginary heartbeat, { _Speaking_ of Spidey --- where _is_ he?}  
_“WHAT?”_ Wade screams, his head snapping towards the absent space where a gangly man was crouching moments ago.  
[RIGHT!] White yells, [Look _RIGHT!_ HE’S MAKING A BREAK FOR IT!]  
{WE’VE GOT A _RUNNER,_ FOLKS!} Yellow provides with esteem.  
  
The crack of the mercenary’s neck resounds grotesquely against the wide brick enclosure as he turns to watch Spiderman rush back for the ledge with alarming speed, the sinuous protector cutting at an angle to avoid the mercenary’s constricting hold. Sallow eyes widen in horror as panic perverts the murderer’s mask’s blank expression into heaving fright. His breath holds in terror as he mindlessly dashes for the evading character, crashing into him in midair as both leap for their objectives. Pain erupts from joints and skin as the duo sings their anguish upon their meeting with each other and the unrelenting roof below. Their limbs tangle as the deranged felon’s gear pokes and prods at supple bodies, disrupting the landing’s smooth roll while arms and legs stick out randomly from the odd colored ball of flesh and fabric. Together, they revolve excruciatingly closer to the towering building neighboring their platform, stopping as the flexible hero twists from the mangled mess to lay in impasse with the killer.  
  
“Hey, Spidey!” Wade croons with a vacant whine of pain, pushing himself to his feet in time with Spiderman’s motion, “You ditching me through a window during a date --” A leather encased finger wags at the audibly snarling hero, the mercenary clicking his tongue disapprovingly before continuing on, _“Kind’a_ makes a guy think you’re not interested.”  
  
The once lax shoulders of the lithe man braces into a taut line before a single step stunts his height, his arms snapping to his front while his hands crush a thought; “THIS ISN’T A _TIME_ TO BE MAKING _FUCKING_ JOKES, DEADPOOL!”  
  
{Holy _SHIT!}_ Yellow exclaims, {Did you hear that? Spidey just cursed. _Spidey_ just CURSED! Code: RED! _Code: RED!}_  
[I guess he is serious,] the logical of the duo wilts with his spoken thought.  
{I thought it was like a _speech_ impediment or something!} Yellow continues to shriek, {But, he can actually _curse!}_  
“But, Spidey! I wasn’t,” Wade whines pass the noise rising within his mind, “I was making regular kind of jokes. Granted, it wasn’t my best, but, if you want sex --” Only a smear of cherry congealing into a hostile form registers to Wade before his head whips to a single side with his hand violently pushing the blur over his shoulder, the sound of rage and yielding brick screaming in his ears. Dumbfounded, Wade peers over the arm now embedded into the wall, trailing the thinly muscled appendage to the shoulder housing its joint and to the emotionless eyes reflecting his astonishment back to him in cruel reality.  
{HOLY _SHIT!}_ Yellow hollers, {--- AGAIN!}  
_[See ~~~]_ White chimes smugly, _[I told you so.]_  
{HE REALLY _IS_ TRYING TO KILL US ---!!}  
_He really is trying to kill me,_ Wade murmurs mentally as bits of debris rain down his torso after a small shudder tells of the wall’s compliancy to releasing Spiderman’s violent hand. _Why is he trying to kill me? Why’s he --- What could override that Boy Scout’s guilty conscious?_  
  
The web detailing flexes with the muscles beneath its scaled texture as the hero contracts his hand in a meditative flow, observing the bend of his fingers and wrist before the material engulfing them squeaks to the harsh constricting form they now take. Deadpool watches a deathly seriousness corrupt his banter partner, stares as the character straightens to a new height, and notes how the one fist becomes a sturdy, frightening pair. Silently, he cringes as the sharp of the once morally righteous man’s edges radiate darkly, him looking for the nervousness that once hid behind the faux, witty confidence as it wanes to the gravity of a hurt burdening the young champion. He examines the tilt of the expressionless visage, catalogs the nod, and surveys the landscape of the protector’s back contracting marvelously as it turns to the ledge. He lets the bicolor-spandexed idol take a slow step forward, stealing another, progressing forth until a yard separates him and the 400 foot plunge.  
  
[{ **GRAB HIM!** }]  
  
Wade sprints after the hero, twisting the arm that flies out to deter him and pinning the limb between him and the thin back of Spiderman as he pushes the champion down between his legs in hopes to constrict his movement. He watches the free hand of the newest Avenger flail about madly as his own rummages through his pouches, his fingers grazing a hard metal while Spiderman finds leverage below himself. Blood pounds in the mercenary’s ears as he feels the hero buck below him. A startled cry shrieks aloud with the second wave. The third nearly shakes off his hold as he brings his cuffs forth, a sharp click stopping Spiderman.  
  
_“DEADPOOL!”_ Spiderman wails when he feel the remorseless metal contract around his wrist, fighting the mercenary’s hold as his boundless grip is stolen in a burly seize and brought together with its opposite. “Let me _GO,_ Deadpool!”  
  
“Sorry, Baby boy,” Wade chimes back, gripping the rear of the young hero’s neck, “Orders from Horny-in-Spangles himself.” His hold’s right twin pushes at the small of the snarling man’s back; “Patriotism and all that Jazz.”  
[You’re Canadian,] White supplies cynically.  
{And, we hate Jazz!}  
[And the man isn’t the president --- Or, the nation itself. So, not all that patriotic.]  
{He’s just named that way.}  
  
“God _fucking_ damn it!” the praised champion curses in biting rage, turning away the white sheen of his artificial bug eyes so he may beat his forehead against the roof’s gravel. Wade lets a low, sympathetic whine rumble for his desired-friend to every dull thud that resonates, growing horrified as the assault stills and the lithe man’s hips shake; “I said --” Spiderman sneers, venom lacing the words as they hiss through the gaps of his teeth, “Get _OFF!”_ A sickly gaze widen when slim hips buck anew, pushing their malleable flesh up against the mercenary’s crotch and eliciting a low, hearty groan from Deadpool’s worn throat.  
  
Yellow starts to laugh maniacally, {Wow! Can you be any more desperate?}  
[Pervert.]  
{“Oh, Spidey,”} croons Yellow, his voice rising high in pitch as a southern drawl mars his words, {“I do declare ‘Hell’ swells to such lewd and forward manners being displayed by such a vision as yourself, Sir.”}  
[Wait,] the paler box drones with a contemplative hum, [I thought we were making fun of Wade.]  
{We were,} Yellow happily says, {Until the author remembered that her level of cunning is a pathetic pile of dust particles invisible to a human eye compared to these two and couldn’t figure what to make me say --- so, she went with Spidey, since the idiot is too easy to tease.} A beat. {Or, at least that’s the story she’s going with.} A pause. {Or, at least that’s what I think she’s making me think is the story she’s going with. Or, at least --}  
[And, I thought we called our dick something classier than ‘Hell,’] White interrupts sharply.  
{Well, I wanted to call it ---}  
[Aaaaa’and it seems my care conveniently stopped working.] White chimes, [For assistance: Shoot yourself in the head. For a compliant: Locate a wastebasket. For a different language: ir a la mierda. Thank you and have a nice day.]  
{--- That wasn't the writer, was it?}  
[--- No?]  
{Is that Spanish even Spanish?}  
[Is anything Sarah Palin say historically true?]  
{ _Ouch_ \--- But, true.}  
  
_“STOP,”_ Wade growls helplessly as he shoves his right hand down to quell the thrusting, _“bucking_ like that! It’s very arousing and I’m sure you don’t want my erection pressing against that fine-ass of yours!” An aggressive sound crawls from the young hero’s throat, grousing through thinned lips hidden beyond a tight mask as the thin body loosens mildly, “Not that I would totally mind, mind you, but I think it’ll definitely become awkward later on with you wanting to get up and me not wanting you to get up and --- Wow! That sounded really nasty and really out of context. Very illegal and non-consensual. Which I’m TOTALLY against, BTW. So, don’t worry about that.” _Geez, don’t hate me._ “Hey, is Videogame Friday still going on, because ---”  
  
_“Wade!”_ Spiderman calls, a tone of hysteria oozing into his voice, “Wade, _please.”_ A sob catches in the lithe hero’s throat, breaking his beseeching flow with a watery chink as the sturdy metal is weakly tested; “Please --- let me _go._ He’s --- He’s getting _away. Please,_ let me _go_.”  
  
Wade cringes to the desperate plea, wondering why this particular event is so disheartening for the young Avenger; “I can’t, Spidey,” the mercenary replies evenly, “I can’t just let you go. Look --- You need to _calm down._ ” Emotionless eyes twist till their reflective glare ensnares the hypercritical image within their merciless face, Deadpool feeling the heat of the younger’s displeasure beyond the barrier; “Please calm down?” He chirps pathetically, “You don’t ---”  
  
“I _FUCKING DO!”_ Spiderman roars.  
  
“YOU _DON’T_ WANT TO DO _THIS!”_ Wade hollers back, feeling the man beneath twitch to his volume. Dejectedly, Deadpool sighs sullenly before opting to mutter in a poor show of inspiring tranquility, “Look --- the Avengers ( _the_ Avengers) are going after him, alright? They’ll catch him. They’ll jail him. Don’t worry; your precious little system will lock him away like Romeo-and-Juliet’s love style.”  
[Just without the forbidden, underage relationship.]  
{Or, the poison and daggers.}  
[And, with better timing.]  
A series of sharp hushes string together before Yellow hisses, _{SPOILERS!}_  
“Yeah! What they said,” Deadpool nods his head curtly, a stern expression twisting his mask’s features. Between his thighs, Wade feels the hero fidget; the metal of the cuffs whine irately as they move with the upset man’s yanking wrists.  
  
“I don’t,” Spiderman whines, his shoulders twisting as tries to crawl away from the mercenary’s hold, “I don’t _want_ them to get him. I don’t want _them_ anywhere NEAR him. If they’ve got him --- If they _have_ him, then --- Then ---”  
  
“Then, you can’t kill him,” Wade nods knowingly. He can remember the demanding screams of sirens blaring by below him to a bank that lay still and quiet and inconspicuous just minutes ago. He recalls seeing the movement of New York’s assembled greatest trudging closer and closer to the site as they deterred from their previous path that had lead to some unknown, his hopes fueling his maneuvers around the fuzz in an elegant speed for a sliver of a chance to own some manner of merit and appreciation in the renowned crowd by apprehending their criminal who was to be blessed with their graceful presence first. He can feel the terror of the odd wave of people streaming out through the doors and pushing at his heroically motivated being as the emotion fell dull to the numbing, blood-curdling scream that broke pass the sudden gun shot and thick bank walls, the anesthetizing holler bleeding its agonizing demise as it shattered in the thickening air of suspense and stilled the heart of the mercenary with its familiarity.  
  
He remembers the door being unusually heavy as he tugged it ajar, memorizing every tremble that shook the thin build of the concealed youth as he sat there amongst loose leaves of paper and trash, learning every crying plead that calls for leniency for the woman, old and withered and warm, who guides a bloody hand down the hero’s cheek as she is held close to the champion’s breaking heart with a full body curl. He memorized how the woman looked tired and weak pass the layer of sweat that lined her aged visage with coming death as she smiled precariously in fatigue to the sobbing defender, cooing in whisper over the whimpering tears that tore at the invading assassin’s supposedly absent soul. She had fought the pain and the fear and the growing numb and the spreading chill while an inevitable fate, unreachable and a sour subject of obsession to the immortal immoraled, caressed her in a slow motion of mercy and torture, sealing her to silence before eons had passed and the bank’s doors open anew.  
  
He recalls how Tony had stilled to the image that played before him and the watching mercenary, a morbid peace binding the witty duo to their uncharacteristic position. Romanov swept pass the weighty entrance that tests each comer’s mettle shortly after her teammate and with her motorcycle resting in quiet, the team’s archer rushing to his driver’s side. He recalls how the lady of red and leather had simply stared at the terrible scene. Her eyes had lain wide as her sharp tongue lay useless in her maw, unwittingly revealing her coveted expression of dour fear before the twisted face disappeared in hast with its owner. Off to nowhere, the spies had turned their tail in their silent departure, each housing a stare drenched in ravenous darkness and an insistence on murder. He remembers how Rogers moved slowly in his entry as Stark pushed pass with a furious bite and a lengthy demand directed his AI’s talent, taking to the SHIELD employees’ example. The blonde man had staggered at the doorway, lamely reaching for his cowl as he dropped it in abandon. He was the only one to offer Wade a considering look before a shaky step drew the famed hero closer to his second number-one fan, stopping only short of a foot to the weeping fellow. He had stood there, staring and thinking and cringing fully when he finally decided to kneel at the Spider’s side.  
  
A hand rose and swept over the tremble that coarse through the taunt shoulder of the spandexed champion, mellifluous sounds of comfort whispering low to him --- soft, sympathetic, and private. He remembers how the hero wavered at his own idol’s sudden presence, startled negatively as he drags the woman closer to his body. The boy hissed desperately at the contact that pulled at his shoulder without welcome, snarling at the war time icon as he defended the chilling corpse resting limp and lifeless in his caring hold. He recalls how the private words cooled the need for unrest into a sullen disposition of grief ridden turmoil that swarmed violently in the calmed, willowy frame. Wade watched in discomfort as the two Avengers stumbled stiffly to their feet, the people’s champion refusing to relinquish his hold upon the dead civilian hanging oddly in his carry. With loyal eyes, he followed the lithe man’s leave of the soundless bank, the silent champion lifelessly limping to the waiting ambulance that had stilled its adventure in at the sight of the grim, bicolored picture. Caution and care soothed the old woman’s carcass across the stretcher, a delicate finger brushing at a sodden lock as the hero’s body told of a weepy apology and a dark promise.  
  
He remembers the grinding of an alley’s brick wall as Rogers pushed at the mercenary's chest holsters and pulled the taller man to the air. He recalls how the blue eyes of the blonde hero burned in its icy determination as their owner sneered words that had quickly became lost to the killer. Heaving breaths brought on by tragedy and the invasive noises of the News shouting off on a far street fought the awkwardness that yearned to settle as the spangled-defender released the killer in a slow, depressing fashion, the felon having chosen to stay and wait --- It was a small, broken sound that had sounded so weakly in the conflicting whirlwind of emotions, denial, and reality, drowning in the clamor of vultures that fed off misery and lies.  
  
It was small and broken and a desperate plead that repeated itself in solidarity until sad eyes loomed to stare at the blank lenses of the infamous murderer. Wade remembers how his hero looked up to him and implored with a dire, dubious request. Wade remembers how he looked down to the man beneath the showgirl image of Captain America, to the man that held and will always hold his never-ending devotion, and extended his own impossible age as he himself refused Death’s more loving arms and swore, with dreaded earnest, a confidence to the hero that he has now fulfilled in keeping. He will remember with grave dejection when he sowed the clues together and realized that, in the fleeting moment of life fading, he had seen a woman, loved and revered by the ever diligent Spiderman with care and devotion, die after an act of violence within the quivering hold of someone she loved and worshiped equally back.  
  
“Wade, _please,”_ Spiderman pleads, _“Please,_ let me go. I can’t --- They can’t ---” A trembling breath breathes heavy in its disheartening rumble, _“Please,_ I need to go.” Wade winces at the level of grief and condemnation perverting his hero’s once fussy righteousness, “Let me go.”  
  
[Let’s let him go,] White says leadenly.  
_We can’t ---_  
{Who are we to deny him revenge,} asks Yellow, {We give it to so many people at a price and he wants to actively pursue it --- We should be giving him a gold star and some cookies instead of hard metal and a harder dick pressing into his tail bone.}  
[Look at him --- He’s like a sad, little puppy! He deserves his vengeance and refusing him that right is becoming unnecessarily challenging.]  
{Ah, didn’t we have to kill a puppy once?}  
[Yeah, but we didn’t like it.]  
{What --- Killing the puppy or the puppy itself?}  
[Killing the puppy,] White says lamely, [We’re not total monsters.]  
_{Right,}_ drags Yellow suspiciously, {so, are we letting the guy go, or ---}  
_“No,”_ Wade stresses both to his voices and to his rooftop friend, his body having gone rigid in his thoughts. A heart beat throbs beneath leather encased fingers, hammering in tears and need; “I’m sorry, Baby boy, but, no,” the once blonde individual sighs into the sullen air. He thinks back to his first encounter with the hero, recalling the lecture and the annoyance the man had first extracted; “‘It’s not our place to deem who _lives_ and who _dies,_ ’” Wade recites, “‘It’s not even about the _law_ and what it labels as just or evil --- At the end of the day and of every fight we had found ourselves in, it is to be sure that we had held true to the responsibility we have for the people who cannot protect themselves.’” Spiderman’s jerking motions still as Deadpool leans closer to find the mirrored, bug eyes, “Isn’t that what you always told me?”  
[Eh, something like that.]  
  
The young, spandexed hero remains immobile and quiet as he lies hindered below the waiting, red clad man. A strangled noise resonates in a whimper before light catches on the lenses embedded into the ruby face of Spiderman; _“Please,”_ he whines.  
  
“You’re not a killer,” Wade coos, letting up on his grip as he leans farther to view both reflective plates, “and I’m not going to stand aside and let you play one to only regret it later.”  
  
_“Please,”_ Spiderman whimpers, “Please, he --- He _killed_ her. I ---” The lithe body shakes and coils upon itself, driving the muscular body off to speculate the unnerving view, “Why did he --- Why did he do that? Why did he _kill_ her? _Why_ \---” Cries snivel out in choked blubbers, the noises persuading Wade to reach for the young man and their origin only to falter at the heat blistering off the foreign flesh in an odd comfort. “She didn’t _do_ anything wrong! She _listened_. She _obeyed_. _”_ The hero’s curl tightens, “She _listened_ and _obeyed_ , so, why did he SHOOT her? She _shouldn’t_ have died, Wade. She _shouldn’t_ have --” A sob catches in the youth’s throat as the memory plays fresh in cruel torment, “I should have been there. I was _suppose_ to be there and ---” The mercenary draws his shivering friend close, cradling his head between the crook of his neck and swords' holsters and sheathing his form in a protective cuddle with a string of hushes and nothings. “She _shouldn’t_ have died. She should still _be_ here going to her _Pilates_ or off to her _hike_ or her friend’s _book club_. _I_ should have been there and protected her while she --- It’s _my_ fault. It's, Dear God, I killed her. I killed --- Why do they keep _dying?_ Why, what’s _wrong_ with me? Christ, it’s my _entire_ fault.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Baby boy ---”  
  
Spiderman buries himself deeper into the warmth that is Wade, convulsing with grief and fear, “I _killed_ them all --- and now I’m _alone.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last alteration made on 12022015]
> 
> So, how did my first piece do: quaint? Pleasant? Manageable --? Your eyes gorged out ---? Oi! You even there? No? Ok, wuuu'ell, anywho, to those that first saw this as a one-shot, I'm retracting that plan & evolving it into a multi-chapter tale.
> 
> If you, for some odd reason, like this story & you wouldn't mind more, give me a heads up. Comments, or even kudos, will keep this monstrosity alive.
> 
> If its bad, explain. I want to fix whatever is wrong or learn or at least try to improve so that this is more enjoyable for the lot of us.
> 
> If you see a tag missing that you think should be up there &/or I missed used a tag, please tell me. Dear, holy fuck. Please. I am soooo not at all good at it. I always feel like I'm a little off or over exaggerating the situation.
> 
> And, if you think of something fun for this story, share --- I would love to hear it. Inspiration is a frickin' scarce wonder and I neeeeee'heed it. 
> 
> On another note - thanks for everything & anything & just getting to this blasted line of doom. Bye, peoples.  
> (Geez, I need to learn when to shut up ---)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 12022015, I have expanded a scene in chapter one --- Just, FYI.

Housed in the scattered mind of the mercenary, the pale, logical box fumbles in his nonexistent nerves, whining his anxiety to the broken tone of his thirds. A deathly emotion hangs heavy with its suffocating presence, the profound passion refusing to wane towards the warm smell of grease and quick bread. The pasty thought box gripes in wordless noises as the pressure mounts unbearably, raising the delusion’s imaginary hairs to attention if only the strands existed to match his illusionary image; [He's staring at us, again,] White finally announces in an eerie drawl in hopes to illustrate his discomfort, stilling Wade's swaying hips and the humming him and Yellow were making in poor unison. Tentative blank lenses throw a nervous glance over the wide slopes of the morally flexible criminal’s shoulders to find the young Spider indeed staring openly from his curled placing on Wade’s decrepit couch, his back and hands pressing against the farthest armrest of the trash yard find with his legs drawn close to his chest. An anxious gulp battles its way down Wilson's throat while returning to the bubbling batter of the pancake stretched across his scorching skillet's base and watching the shape soar into the air with a flick of his wrist, [I think I miss him crying.]  
{Maybe he's checking us out,} the cheerier voice suggests, {I mean, we ain't no him or Kardashian [Thank Odin,] but that doesn't mean we don't got a shapely ass that'll rock for days. We've buff as FUCK, man!}  
"I thought I was fat," Wade chuckles, catching the wet side of his hundred-and-thirtieth quick bread easily with the heated pan and settling the skillet back to the hot surface of his stove.  
{Oh, you are,} Yellow chimes.  
[Fat in delusions.]  
{Fat in the head.}  
[Fat in mental issues.]  
{Fat in apathy.}  
[Fat in empathy.]  
{Fat on sympathy.}  
[Fat in fantasies.]  
{Ou! Like that one where Spidey is covered in Whipped Cream. That’s a fattening one.}  
[Or draped in our favorite hoodie ---]  
{Or using those handcuffs for something kinkier ---}  
[Or Spidey stretched out on our bed ---]  
{Or us driving him up the wall.} [Or him driving _us_ up the wall,]  
{By talking in that _dirty, dirty_ voice he can get after fights,}  
[And giving us those sultry eyes {Most likely through those weird ass lenses, but, hey, still kind of hot} while walking towards us with a seductive sway with each careful step he takes towards ---] "Sha'd up," Wade sneers breathily through the gaps of his teeth, removing the plain pancake from the pan and to the growing tower of food as he whispers so, "You're not helping."  
  
"But I didn't say anything," calls a foreign voice off from nowhere, jolting the mercenary around to face the iconic emotionless mask of the human shaped [Arachnid -- he says it often enough] {He’s just defensive of his twice removed family cousins or some shit} [I thought he said his entire family is dead?] {What about the Avengers?} [I think he meant the shares-similar-DNA kind of family] {Oh} and a body leaning defenselessly against his kitchen's frame door, "And I came to ask _you_ for a favor."  
  
_"Yeah?"_ Wade squeaks, holding his spatula close to his beating heart, "Sorry, I was just ---" The plastic face of his kitchen utensil taps at the white rim of his chef hat "--- Just talking to them, not you. But, we can talk now, you can always talk. I mean, of _course_ you can talk --- you're a grown ass man, but you're _allowed_ to talk. Wait! _Fuck_ , no! I have no control over you and (Hey! America!) freedom of speech and ---” Sharply, the wild stream of words wavers to an abrupt end as an ill-fated thought robs the frantic man’s attention, his grip tightening upon the rubber utensil while he draws the device closer with a deep, precise breath. [Don’t do it, man.] {Abort the mission! ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION!} [You’re not made for this --- Literally. Weapon X went through a lot of trouble to make you some inhuman killing machine. You’re too _broken_ for this shit. Don’t. Do. It.] {Listen to the killjoy for _once in your pathetic life!}_ “I mean, if you need to talk, you can. I’m here. I --- I know how it feels."  
[U’op, and there he goes,] White recites lamely.  
{Smooth move, Casanova,} Yellow drags sardonically, his spoken voice carrying his complete confidence for Wade, {Opening yourself up for the chance at a booty call --- _Not_ the brightest idea you’ve ever had.}  
_I’m not doing it for a chance at a booty call,_ Wade sneers to his griping boxes, _His maybegrandmother just died. In his arms! After being MURDERED --- I’m just trying to be nice for a maybe-almost-certainly-not-friend-because-of-stupid-heroic-moral-limitations-and-probably-because-he-hates-me-now-for-not-allowing-him-to-kill-his-maybegrandmother’s-killer-and-be-dragged-away-to-be-raped-in-prison-after-being-shamefully-removed-from-the-greatest-congregation-of-heroes-since-Batman-joined-the-Justice-League --- friend?_  
{Sure you are.} [ _We_ believe you.] { _This_ is our _‘we-believe-you’_ voice.} [You can tell by _how_ _we_ _drag our vowels_ in a nonbe _lieving manner._ ]  
Fuck --- You --- Assholes.  
[Well, we are you ---] {So, get to masturbating physical body of us,} cheers the sunny box, { _you_ command YOU!}  
[Wait,] White demands as he slowly contemplates, [Who’s Batman?]  
  
“Um, hello?” Spiderman calls from reality once more, drawing back the gun-for-hire with another unexpected shock, “Real world to Deadpool. Anything online in there?”  
  
[Wow.] {Rude.}  
[Why do we like him again?] The pale box quarries with genuine interest.  
{He’s cool _and_ he talks to us _and_ doesn’t vomit or stare after we take off our mask _and_ he gets us a hell of a lot more than others ever have.}  
[Except for the unaliving part.]  
{Well, except for the unaliving besides today. I think he’s still all for it now --- the hypocrite. Hey that can be his new name! _The Hypocrite: stopping crimes and reciting lectures to the corrupt and the murderous as he_ himself _commits the most heinous acts for his own selfish self later those very hours_.}  
[Yeah, but we already knew that.]  
{That he’s a wannabe killer?}  
[No, (Well, yes, because of today, but) that he was a hypocrite.]  
_{Right.}_  
_SHU’D UP,_ Wade sneers to the ruckus marring his thoughts, clapping and opening his arms wide at the end for the look of easy comfort and welcome; “YEP! All here, Spidey Baby,” he exclaims lively before another contemplation lodges itself inside in the midst of his focus anew and spreads its rotting touch to his reserve of faux confidence, forcing the wide man to wilt to its depressing possibility. His heart begins to race to the mere idea the thought holds as he brings his hands back to his slowly heaving chest, his head tilting to his vacating strength; “Did you, um, say? Something. Before hand?" Wade asks cautiously, fearing that the hero confirms his worries and solidify the mercenary’s missed chance in helping appease and comfort his banter partner for the sake of the insatiable noise [{ **HEY!** }] forever boarded in his damaged skull.  
  
“What? Oh, no. No ---” Wade sighs, “No, I was just wondering why you brought me here,” the young hero confesses, giving a short look over of the bare living room lying just at his back.  
  
“Shit,” Wade cries. [I _told_ you you _should’ve_ cleaned up this morning. Never know what could happen, but, Nope!] {No, what we should’ve done was bring the teleporter belt. Could’ve gone to the penthouse we just bought on the other side of town. Woo the Spider with luxury and cash!} [You mean the crap apartment on the top floor of the even crappier building?] {Well, _we_ haven’t fucked it up yet, so, it can’t be _all_ bad. Plus, you think it looks worse than this?!} “You hate it! I mean, of _course_ you hate it! I mean, it’s home to me,” the lunatic tosses his crisp toque aside prior to pulling off his frilly pink apron, his vocabulary quickening to the rising panic that he’s not meeting some illusionary expectation Spiderman maybe holding high, “But --- DAMN it! I should’ve known. You deserve ---”  
  
“--- WADE!” The blank, rosy face of the champion flashes before the mercenary’s sallow, hidden eyes, driving Wade back from the sudden appearance; “Wade, the apartment is fine. Believe me when I say I’ve been in places that were far worse than this can ever _get_. That’s not what I was asking,” Spiderman spews out rapidly, his tone harboring a job to pacify and soothe.  
  
“Oh. Yeah, _sure;_ whatever you say,” Wade chirps nervously before snapping a salute to place with the priming of his structure, the red man’s tone deepening for his next phrase as Spiderman stutters back in answer to the shift movement rushing before him; “What did you mean then, _Sir_ Spidey _Sir?”_  
{Kiss ass.} _If I was ever so lucky._  
  
“Well, I ---” The words run into silence as their sound hangs there, drawn and isolated and abandoned in the space between the speaker and the receiver. Wade watches the arachnid still and lose his line of sight as the bug eyes droop down towards nothing, the felon lowering his hand in curious notion as the hero does so. He waits and wonders until the young Avenger crooks his head lightly back to gaze at his keeper from beyond his mirrored lenses, the thin body becoming loose with ease in posture as a step glides with careful precision and time to carry its frame farther into the small, constricted spacing; “I mean, _why_ am I _here,_ Wade?” Spiderman’s words call aloud, melting into a syrupy stream from the new sultry tone warming them.  
  
Awe-stricken, the supposed fearless anti-hero steals a faltering pace away from the tightly clothed man as the younger drew near with a humble flourish, swallowing audibility to the odd change of behavior his spider-mutated questionablefriend has taken; “For Videogame Friday?” The extensively feared, mass-murdering schizophrenic chokes with growing anxiety, “Since I doubt y’you’ll be back around anytime s’oon.” The Spider hums merrily with a thoughtful quality, the twin to his glided step sweeping over the dirty floor in a smooth slither before driving the leather clad behemoth back closer to the wall mere feet away. A groan rumbles against the taller man’s will as his eyes fall scandalously in veneration to the ever soft sway the slender, rocking hips take while the youth pulls his restrained shoulders back in a submissive display. From beyond the odd scale texture constructing the spandexed visage of the renowned hero, Wade can feel the sweltering burn of the nimble idol’s stare scorching hotly beneath the reflective sheen and the thin curtain of lashes that are sure to outline the intoxicating hue of the secret gorgeous eyes made to enrapture his willing soul.  
  
“Really?” Spiderman coos, a timid whine carrying the word alluringly pass its end, “Because the last time I checked, hands handcuffed behind your back makes for some really _hard_ play.” The mercenary moans at the transparent innuendo his hero brazenly enunciated, observing the shift of the tight, blue hips as they offer glimpses to the curvaceous bend of the willowy fascination’s notorious ass that lies hidden in a slow pirouette while the tips of the felon’s fingers become the first of his body to greet the stiff surface of his kitchen’s wall; _“I_ think that MAYBE,” Wade breathes a wordless prayer to whatever wish granting deity that maybe listening for his own sudden ability to stalk up walls as the young hero slows his march to a seductive stroll amongst his personal space, “I was brought here for a totally _different_ type of game.” The enthralling obsession slides himself against the wide spread of Wade’s chest, rising to his toes to smile against the sharp curve of the murderer’s jaw, “One that’ll put these mean handcuffs to better use.” The hidden grin slips higher on the quivering criminal as they breathe against the concealed shell of an ear, “One that we’ll both enjoy.”  
  
A chuckle sings in amused mirth from the spritely dream as the infamous assassin whimpers a needy cry above the tremble coursing through his being; the admirable of the duo rests his head tenderly upon the corrupts’ shoulder holding high in tension, slowly slipping himself over the conspicuous ridges marking the defined muscles of the killer as agile feet rest flat across the dusty tiles’ plane; “Wade?” The bi-colored spandexed man calls, his tone taking on the dangerous note of enticing.  
  
The called gulps despite himself, admiring the weight belonging to the fair hero as the body rises and falls in time upon his heaving breast. He experiences the latest Avenger’s steady drag of air slipping below the fibbers of his leather suit as it breathes out, memorizing the tepid moisture loitering on his open sores before cooling in sorrowful departure. He feels the younger’s heat burn like a penetrating furnace against the barriers that separate the apt smooth flesh of the ideal from his horribly scarred and oozing hide, an intimacy that once was fantasy but now an overpowering memory that holds purchase still in the frail present. His teeth clench as he suffers the blissful torture of the other living, warm body stirring against his own: the idol nuzzling his cheek against his beating heart, a shoulder jarring at his bicep, a leg threatening to slip between his as a lightly defined thigh the champion possesses pushes at the bulge of his groin. The killer skews his eyes shut in hopes to keep himself in the right; his limp hands tighten into taunt fists, a prayer murmuring to life to keep them still through occupation and away from straying to the temptation gliding so perfectly across their leather body as Wade steadies his breath; “Yes?” he whines pathetically in acknowledgment, the growing frustration of his predicament plainly evident in the hitch of his reply.  
  
“Remember that favor I wanted?” Spiderman asks sweetly.  
  
“M’mmHmm.”  
  
“Well,” slowly, the solid feel of heat migrates in a delicate skid across the large scape of Wade’s chest and leaves desiring, decrepit hide lonely prey to the chilling, frigid air, its owner shifting with a wordless promise edging his flutter as he moves to meet the veiled gaze of the cowering man holding himself tight against the bare wall, “You know how stuffy spandex can get, right?” Wade nods. “Especially when you get _hot_ and _humid?”_ Wade’s nods quicken with a short, needy whine. “So --- I _came_ ,” visions of Spiderman fan flush and perfect against the silk sheets coating the executioner’s bed, adorn in sheens of sweat and a glowing blush across the subtle embrace left by the sun while breathtakingly spread open to the world and the mercenary in fantastic display, short breathes motivating the adventurous, tainted touch of the deranged to lewdly caress the forbidden desire, winning low, needy, whining prizes from embarrassed lips until deprived words break and beg for more fill Wade’s mind with steaming fancy and hauls a vigorous groan at the indecent product of wonder until the offender casts away the pleasant imagery of his maybefriend stretched in compromising positions before his illusionary self in favor to listen to his physical idol only to find the hero lingering in silence, waiting for the return of the felon’s wandering, violating attention. “--- To ask if _you_ ,” the star of a many lonely night’s dream draws closer to the guilty as he rises to his toes once more, “could lift the hem of my _not_ -so-friendly-mask to my nose.” A smile oozes into the enticing character’s words as it stretches across his concealed face and soothes his plea lightly with a whimper, “--- To help _me_ , Wade.”  
  
“S’sure,” the infamous mass-murderer chirps in nerves, meekly shrugging distance between the impossible attitude of his spider-themed friend and his unnerved self as he stares down to the possible edge of the web-detailed cover, “I, I can do that.”  
  
A moment swells in magnitude and engulfs the duo within a heavy silence, both ending their feeble motions by staring into the other’s impassive eyes. Wade struggles to find his composure and will, his breath suffocating him anew while he watches the people’s champion observe him with revered and candid interest. He notes the dutiful attentiveness his rooftop friend trustily dedicates to, following each twitch the taller makes and straining to hear every whisper the frantic breathes. A shaky sigh slips by scarred, chapped lips while fingers dance a rhythm against holsters still bound to thighs before a shy hand shudders to the air. The hesitant appendage morphs oddly in the eyes of Spiderman as the hero loyally tracks the wiggling digits’ descent towards the rim of his crimson mask.  
  
Anxiety clenches the criminal’s sharp teeth tight with the withdrawing twitch of the assassin’s hand as the champion breathes a puff of pleased amusement towards the jittery movements played before him. More of the bright red pillar vigilantly becomes bared to the mercenary in a show of honest confidence as the bicolored hero tilts his neck farther back, chuckles jostling the cartilage protruding from his throat before a whisper breathes aloud, “I trust you.”  
  
_He trusts me?_ Wade ponders while his thumb brushes across the Spider’s buried jugular, eliciting a frisson to course through the thin man. He drags the peaks of his fingers across the raised ridges marking the webbed design, admiring the seconds expanding between himself and the renowned defender sustaining without a threat of a hesitant interruption. _Why would someone like him trust me?_ The mercenary wonders as the hero’s mask’s edge caps the crowns to his gloved nails, watching the tight textile curve north along the tantalizing stretch of skin. His fingers spray slowly over the taunt feel of muscle and flesh as his grip seizes a frail hold under the spandex and over the shuddering column, savoring the beautiful sensation that tingles a life through his abused nerves in a wondrous infection of heat and electricity. The solid shapes of his touch slips higher amongst the unyielding expanse of the smooth, supple body, guiding thoughtfully the harsh material as the odd lock of chestnut hair threatens to tangle.  
  
A shiver ruptures below the pads of Wade’s handle, fear of having harmed his rooftop companion stilling his slow movements after baring the Spider’s Adam apple to the musky air. Attentive eyes stained sickly beyond a blank stare subdue their concerned search of a wound as they glide over the delicate shifts of the bobbing cartilage with a curious devotion. Admiration swelters into each slow drag of breath that matches to every spasm the hero’s anxious heaving beckons. Life etches its beautiful lie to every motion, affection bloating the moment in fantastic fantasy. Seconds heave their short, fading bodies into satisfying, time consuming moments as Wade considers the simple grace of the exposed smoothness until the breathy calling of his hero breaks him free of the subtle hypnoses.  
  
Embarrassment spikes through the raw ends of the felon’s consciousness, his blurry focus sharpening to the uncontrollable rhythm his shame boils beneath his blistered skin; “Sorry,” squeaks aloud in a meek, whimpering apology whilst the mercenary timidly avoids the smoldering judgment permeating from the hidden surveillance. Apprehension dries Wade’s mouth while he opts to busy himself, counting every additional row crowding the nooks of his thumbs. Soon, the fabric fights to bite the flesh housing its form as its gathered body struggles over the fine peak of the hero’s chin, gloved fingers offering a gentle touch in greeting while they pass. Worried thin lips, stretched into a weak, hospitable smile colored in a frail, pale hue, frame mundane teeth as the crimson curtain marred in black trails rises higher on the secret man lying below the famous face of Spiderman.  
   
“That’s _much_ better,” the youth sighs airily, his resilient watch floating lighter upon the fumbling man’s head as the mercenary adjusts the final strips of creased spandex. With great hassle, the last of the taunt fabric settles neatly across the bridge of the man’s nose, winning a pleased grin to stretch across the hidden complexion of Wade as the red clad man huffs in his mild victory. Gloved fingers ride from the peaks of the wrinkles in a patchy descent before slipping down to the plump bulges of flesh pulling into a dimpled bend as the Spider's smile brightens anew; “Thank you, Wade,” Spiderman sings, filling the scarred individual above him with delight.  
  
Wade returns the bright glow of a smile back to his hero, beaming gloriously at the rare expression of gratitude that had been spoken by none other than the now visibly smiling man before him, a fusion of glee and exhilaration seeping their poison into his ever jolly manner; “It’s no problem, Spidey,” Wade chimes with his normal spike of gaiety, his hands falling away from their desired perch before rubbing the tantalizing stir still lingering on their skin away against leather sheathed thighs. The duel faces of Spiderman disappear into the nook of the murderer's shoulder as the hero rests his supposed-weary head, the champion’s breath gliding hotter over Wade with its vacant barrier, “Just doing right by my main ---” A girlish exclamation squeals as continuation from clench teeth and marred lips while it sounds from the mercenary’s scarred voice, the wide structure of the towering man taunting in shock to the interruptive pressure of pouting lips urging their shape over his chest in a heavy, unforeseen kiss.  
  
“How about you,” Spiderman mouths, the purred question swirling feverishly in a silent promise over the pulsing of the mercenary’s sprinting heart. A soft, desperate hum quivers at the feel of full lips dancing another eager caress across firm muscle and appeal at the reverberating end of the inquiry, the lithe hero’s leg trailing north with the company of a smile pressing at the leather suit. Wade squirms against the opposing pressure rising between his legs and the frail dry wall holding him unconvincingly bound. He feels the world slant and swirl madly around with rampant force, twisting his kitchen into a blurring mess of dull hues and colors as the heat ruptures through him. He bites at the string of needy moans threatening to sound as the teasing pleasure simmers between his hips grows, ignoring the hefty desire to release his self-restraint and rut in feral want against the offering obsession’s thigh who now trails velvety touches across his being in a way he has not felt since a thought on a dusty, long since passed memory.  
  
“You must be stuffy in there,” the champion chuckles, his knee grazing the blatant arousal of his company as a choked whine bleeds passed an asphyxiated breath captured in a mutilated esophagus; “--- in that tight,” the leg heaves a slow return, nudging the compressed erection of the felon with its deliberate path, “--- constricting,” the extremity carves deeper into the swollen member, Wade offering a hearty groan as he endures the sensation of his sensitivity scrape to the curve of Spiderman’s firm thigh, “--- leather, right?”  
  
“Nope,” Wade squeaks, ignoring the pinning that stirs within him as the blissful thigh slips away, “‘M fine.”  
  
“Oh, don't give me that, Wade,” the agile youth fusses as he presses his thin frame flush and profound against the broad structure of the notorious murderer, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because of me.” The weight of the hero shifts and glides north until the Spider's moist breath sweeps across the shape of Wade's ear; "let me help you," he whispers sweetly, slipping from his perch with grace as he moves to brush his grinning lips by the sharp of a trembling jawline, "let me take responsibility for my silly ---” The webbed defender’s slender build slithers and slides south, sinking lower on the towering man as he abandons a soft, chaste kiss about the beating heart in sullen parting; “--- little,” Spiderman coos to the narrow spread of Wade’s hips, his nose skimming the hard curve of the anti-hero’s caged erection. “--- _Self,”_ the word slips into the hefty air resonating between the two while the nimble obsession’s knees find purchase on the floor beneath him, his humid breath puffing at the junction of the old man’s thighs.  
  
Wade fights to breathe, his mind reeling on the impossible, foreign warmth pouring towards him at his knees. His head swirls in the absence of blood. His vision distorting to dust and particles of color as his skin sharpens its senses, yearning to feel the life beyond its leather barrier; “All we have to do is just _slip_ off these _nasty_ \---” a harsh snap of resilient metal resounds against his heaving breathes though the words easy to hear in their stifling tone. “--- Little,” the noise sighs clearly to the feel of malleable flesh nuzzling against the hard muscle of Wade’s thigh, velvety and calm as the sound of metal straining against its opposition screams murderously once more; “--- things and let the _real_ fun begin,” a strangled, deprived whimper curdles in the trembling man’s throat before crying in a hefty cascade of want as lips brush the outline of his pants’ zipper with their words and a teasing kiss slips into a tormenting existence at his bulge’s edge.  
  
{Wow.} [That’s cold.]  
_What,_ Wade manages to think monotonously through the haze of his arousal and shock from his twin voices’ sudden reappearance.  
[ _Tell_ me you’re not buying his bullshit,] White groans in disdain; _[Are you?]_  
_Where have you two been?_  
{Offline, apparently,} Yellow supplies before falling into a wistful moan, {and missed such an awesome show, too --- Shud’up, Kermit; it’s not easy being imaginary.}  
[But, what a show it is: a nice, little play for a stupid, overgrown manchild that _got_ played. How quaint.]  
_I don’t ---_ Wade moans, thrusting in reserve to the lips that tease at the bound evidence of want in marvelously stress and torture while they imprint their shape to its straining, concealed form with hearty vigor.  
[Of course _you_ don’t understand,] White groans in disappointment.  
{I think we need to break it down for him. Speak stupid, for Stupid.}  
[Well, let’s start at the end, Stupid: what is Spidey doing right now?]  
_O’hon his n’knees?_ Wade thinks breathily, _Ge’heving me a dry BJ?_  
[Very good, Stupid.]  
{And, had he ever, (in the three, long years that we’ve known him,) EVER even paid the smallest little affection towards you that would result in _THIS?!}_ The citrus hued box screeches in a shrill, unbelieving tone, {Perfect, little Spidey on his knees yet alone mouthing _your junk before a face like yours_. Knowing that it only got worse from the collar down!}  
_But, he ---_  
[Just because someone can school their face while they look at you does _not_ equal them wanting to touch it with their own.]  
{So, think, Stupid; would he ever place his perfect self at the feet of something _like you?}_  
_\--- No._  
{No. Very good, Dumbo; very good. You’re learning.}  
[So, that leads us to _why_ he’s on his knees.]  
{Can you tell us why he’s on his knees, Dumbo?}  
[Willing to offer so much?]  
{To a FREAK. Like. _You_.}  
  
Reality shatters and breaks the hope veiling the world seen by the depraved eyes of the immortal felon, the heaving breathes of the scarred man turning hostage by the mounting dread and mortification caving inside of him. The room stills with the permeating anxiety consuming the musky air, crushing the towering man with a cold authenticity and a virulent truth; “that’s it,” Wade chokes, horrific realization trickling into each sound and breaking the words into a depressing enunciation. Below him, an apparition of red stirs and he looks away in dashing prayer to evade the eyes that would show the monstrous man in their distorting plates, reflecting the disguise he shrivels behind in a more honest shape; “isn’t it?”  
  
The figure of the defender moves and scrapes at the legs of the fiend, fighting to find the creature’s face as he wiggles on the tiles. Darkness perverts the sight of the monster, of the weak and the immoral as the brute hides away from the veracity with closed eyes; “what,” the champion’s subtle note floats in the bleak background of gloom as the dull utterance cuts across the tension thickening in the air, bleeding more curiosity than trepidation itself. Rage bubbles and burns a pain inside the beast as he drowns in the honest confusion marring his hero’s voice and the willingness he himself was offering for the taste of intimacy, the enthusiasm to use a person submerged in desperation and blinded by vengeance, the closeness of nearly becoming something he hates as he almost relived a dreaded, haunting memory.  
  
_“THIS!”_ Wade hollers, pushing at the idol in a hope for distance while the gravity and shame of the situation settles grimly in the base of which he is, “ALL OF _THIS!”_ Anxious steps steal the mercenary’s company from Spiderman, from his _manipulator,_ from his _temptation_ in a rapid, flickering storm, his heavy strides echoing against the thin walls while drawing the insane to the far side of the kitchen. An arm cradles his turning midriff in a tight clutch, his teeth worrying the tips of his gloved nails through the fabric of his costume. His paces shorten with his sprinting breathes, marking the petite distance between his blank wall and refrigerator with precipitous thoughts that swarm within his muddled mind through obscuring clamor; the voices attempt to talk, to mock, to insult and ridicule and deride but disappear in the fretful crowd filled with questions and demands and rebuttals and want and knowing.  
  
Wade stops his frantic march as he stares into nowhere, surveying the blurry combination of blood and a resting, night sea move with quiet words from the corner of his vision with the silencing of his mind; “this is to get me to unlock you,” the towering man murmurs to the murderous wave of numb devouring his senses, his eyes drying to the air as shock holds them captive.  
  
{Oh, so not so much of a Dumbo now, are you?}  
[Congratulations, you’ve _finally_ caught up to the readers --- at least, _most_ of the readers.]  
{There’ve been crazier stories out there than what could’ve just happened.}  
[They can get _pretty_ out there.]  
{Ha! Pretty,} Yellow chuckles, {Not even they want to see your ugly mug macking on anyone.}  
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Wade says, ignoring the boxes as he turns to see Spiderman housed near the bottom of his breakfast nook’s ledge. [I can’t believe it took you this long.] {I can’t believe you thought you had a _chance_.}  
  
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN’T _BELIEVE,_ ” the hero snarls, his words biting into the man as his teeth bare hostilely in a viscous scowl that contorts the exposed, handsome features of the person who is Spiderman, “ _I’m_ being held against my will by a homicidal, schizophrenic nut-job with a hero complex who is too _careless_ and too _impulsive_ to do _anything_ right in the first _thousand_ chances we’ve ever offered on _any_ given situation [Okay ---] _{Ouch!}_ [--- Yeah, that was a little uncalled for.] {But he is telling the truth, Brother.} [I am _so_ not your brother ---] while ano _THER MURDERER_ IS RUNNING _FUCKING_ _RABID_ OUT THERE. WHAT DID YOU _THINK_ I WAS GOING TO DO?” The lithe champion twists and turns, falling back to the short wall behind while his bound hands slips easily over the slope of his ass; Wade’s arms move slowly in a horrified descent as he watches, listening to the young Avenger sneer, “SIT HERE AND LOOK _PRETTY_ FOR YOU?” The length of metal barring together the webbed crusader’s hands scrapes at his thighs, inching closer to the idol’s ankles as a cynical grin barks, “NO, THANKS, WILSON!”  
  
“DON’T _DO_ THAT!” Wade squeals a desperate howl, his voice breaking as he dives for Spiderman’s arm until both individuals still, gazing into the other’s impassive stare.  
  
“What,” the hero spits, growling and glaring at the mercenary as the man’s fingers twitch centimeters from the blue material.  
  
{Well, considering how you ditched Captain Righteous to follow the murder twins to probably see how spidery you can really be ---}  
[And, how you nearly killed us as we tried to stop you by said Purer-than-an-American-grandma’s-apple-pie’s orders ---]  
{And, now just tried to seduce us into uncuffing you at the risk of your pretty, little ass being worse from wear ---}  
[I think we can honestly say we don’t trust this Spidey.]  
  
_No,_ “I just don’t trust you not to do something stupid,” Wade confesses sullenly with a silent plead, admitting the truth for his delusions while hoping his voicing of the blatant worries of many pacifies the hero to a more common reserve. He beckons pass his labored breathes before shuddering to the anger and discontent fuming from the thin body of the grieving, internally chanting rebuttals in futile denial as the mirrored lenses burrow with the champion’s creasing brow.  
_No_. [O’up, guess not.]  
_No ---_ {He _really_ doesn’t look happy.} _No!_ {I know. Shut up.}  
[I don’t know if I should say that it’s terrifying to see a good man _want_ to go to war ---]  
{--- Or, absolutely _adorable,_ because _come on!}_ Yellow cries, {He looks like a _cute, w’ittle kitten stuck in a jar. Yes, he does._ Heh. Even has their babyish, little pout.}  
_Come on, Spidey, snap out of it ---_ Wade thinks, whining mentally as a threatening snarl grumbles aloud from the shorter.  
[But, he’s growling like a feral with an alpha psychosis and has something to prove,] gripes White, [Let us not forget that this is a man that can make us really hurt if he _really_ wanted to.]  
  
“I want out of these, Wilson,” Spiderman demands in low, throaty rumble, _“Now.”_  
  
[{ **YES!** }] “No.” _What the Fuck, guys?!_  
[Sorry ---] {Not sorry!} [--- But, I’m going for the _NOT-getting-my-ass-kicked-so-we-not-not-get-killed-afterwards-and-then-marinate-in-the-fucking-pain_ plan here, because ---] {And, he’s going to be honest with you ---} [--- We. Fucking. Hate. Pain.]  
{We live it,} the sunny box chimes.  
[We _are_ it,] the exasperated voice corrects.  
{It’s not going away anytime soon.}  
[Best avoid the beatings that buzz over the whole _cancer-tearing-you-asunder-twenty-four-seven_ pain that keeps you up at night on every face of the moon but mainly are used to, so, you can keep on trooping,] the pale box supplies, [Especially, if those beatings don’t damage your nervous system and brain. Those are anything but pleasant.]  
{But, we ARE awesome showmen,} Yellow reminisces, thinking to the times where Wade jokingly passes off his worst wounds as entertainment and gags.  
[That we are,] hums White in accord.  
_Well, tough SHITS,_ Wade snaps, _My body, my rules. Spidey stays._  
  
“LET ME _GO!”_ The hero cries in rage, drawing back the morally fluctuating to the present as the sounds of flesh snaps in the air with the unwavering resistance of Spiderman’s chains holding true. Wade scowls in distraught as the hysterical idol retests the solid power of his shackles with sharp flicks and pulls, harming himself further in his continued rejection of his own strength’s failings.  
  
[Aaaaaaa’nd, we’re back to square four, again,] White whines, [How splendid.]  
{He _really_ doesn’t want to be here,} the citrus hued box notes objectively.  
A puff of false air radiates within Wade’s torn mind as the emotionally worn voice groans leisurely in cynicism, [ _Noooooo'ho._ Really? Whatever gave you _that_ impression.]  
{And, he _really_ likes that phrase,} the sunny box continues.  
Another groan speaks with more fatigue than sass, [I suppose.]  
With a high pitch draw of an implausible breathe, Yellow squeals before ushering out his supposed brilliance, _{Light bulb!}_  
[What,] the question spikes with authentic curiosity.  
{Let’s get him a T-Shirt logoed with it!}  
Silence settles between the two hallucinations as White gathers his patience and drags a low, stunned repetition, [What.]  
{Yeah! It’ll be perfect,} Yellow promises, {We’ll find a goofy character, splatter some color onto it, and _voilà!_ An _I’m-sorry-please-don’t-kill-me_ gift! He’ll LOVE us after that!} A high pitch shriek fills the aching spaces of the shattered mind, {We can have a _Spring wedding!}_  
[--- I, I --- I just can’t get you sometimes,] confesses the pale box.  
{It’s flawless and you’re just jealous that you didn’t think of it first,} gripes Yellow in a huff.  
[Yes,] White groans, [That is _exactly_ it.]  
“WHY?” Wade demands pass his inner voices’ quarrel to the bound champion, his gloved hands flying out in some manner of hope to appease his webbed, spandexed, rooftop maybefriend with the overlooked truth, “So, that you can do the very _same_ THING that you’ve been hounding _me_ to stop?” His grip twitches farther apart as the champion falls motionless; the artificial bug-eyes slips away to nowhere as the hero’s frame begins to curve defensively, enticing the mercenary to a light pursuit of the distorting stare, “So, you can take an eye for an eye?” The slick material of Wade’s gloves screech as fists form tightly for the Avenger’s avoiding gaze, his arms drawing them home with a snap; “SO, YOU CAN _KILL_ THE _MOTHERFUCKER?!”_ Deadpool screams in incredulous interest.  
  
“Yes?” The hero chirps dubiously before shaking his head in refusal, curling closer to himself as his knees slip to his chest; “no,” he mutters lamely, a faltering shrug rolling through his bound limbs while hurt frustration whispers, “I don’t know. Maybe. I just ---” Cold, skewing eyes glance meekly towards the deluded man as a surrendering sigh plummets to extinction, relinquishing the sanctuary their knees’ provided with a quivering frown etched thin onto the youth beneath the mask, “I just _want_ to know _why,_ Wade, and I can’t really figure that out if I’m going to get stuck _here_ \---” The lithe crusader’s eyes fall away miserably while weak tugs reverberate across the grave silence from the handcuffs in an illustrated point, “--- being treated like a common criminal.”  
  
“But, you’re not being treated like a _common_ criminal, Baby Boy,” soothes Wade with a hushing tone. He cautiously concedes his firm fists to form a comforting hand, spreading the consoling, calming contact across Spiderman’s cold shoulder as it gradually elicits the younger’s attention to return, “You’re being treated like a highly _dangerous_ individual.” Within, Wade flinches at his own graveness that leached into his forward deadpan as he watches the hero’s frown grow thinner and his willow frame harden at the implication. He feels the tensing of the young Avenger’s muscles, the shock of the news dimming the will that wishes for freedom, and, despite everything, Wade smiles at how blinded his champion became and realizes how deep the sorrow runs in the thin body for it to be fueling such murderous rage. He smiles morosely as he continues on with a lighter, wavering tone, “You’re being treated like a _highly-dangerous_ individual who’s willing to forfeit his _life, career,_ and _morality_ BY PEOPLE who just don’t,” the criminal’s head shakes to the thought, his eye contact slipping away with the tension, “don’t want to see you throw away _everything_. _”_ Beneath his suit, his heart hammers as he pauses for a breath, heaving away his fears when he returns to his twisted image.  
  
[You’re an idiot,] White speaks, solidarity drenching his words with a leaden, haunting chill that rings ominously in the unsettling quiet housed in the mentally ailed mind, [you know that, right?]  
_Yeah,_ Wade thinks, grimacing guiltily upon the dead, scaled eyes that pierce through him with blistering judgment and fearful prospect as the shamed expression of the insane becomes lost to the stern, blank folds of red, _I know._  
  
A broken sigh plummets silently before the criminal sullenly persists with drive, starting on by saying in grim verity, “For a woman who _lived_ installing this sense of duty into you,” {He always was a whining bitch when he found out that we distracted him to K-word someone,} Yellow reminisces in a recollected muse. [Always seemed to be trying to prove himself to someone not there,] notes the pale box with melancholy; “--- who _lived_ protecting your dreams,” {Loving guardians do that, right?} [Don’t know --- I’ll tell you when I find out,] “--- and supporting you through the worst,” [Gone for eight months, if we can trust the _Bugle]_ “--- and _telling_ you to get _out_ of the _laboratory_ or the _house_ or some _book_ to smell a pansy or a daisy or whatever that stupid flower that everyone’s telling everyone to smell.” His fingers glide and circle the sagging shoulder’s blade, tightening their grip over the deceivingly broad slope in a beating pulse as a sign of support prior to his voice softening with the leaning of his whole; “Someone who would rather see her murderer walk if it meant a chance for you to live,” the promise whispers between the duo, spoken loud enough for the pledge to offer root and pacification yet soft for the allure of familiarity to manifest in the sea of winding extremes, though the Spider’s disheartened sulk sullies and darkens to a surly scowl hissing, lenses burrowing once again.  
  
“HOW WOULD _YOU_ KNOW THAT?!” Spiderman spits hatefully, drops of saliva flying madly with each snarled syllable that sneers through bared teeth, yet Wade remains vigilant in the split face of desperate anguish. His smile grows only more restrained and distressing as he hears the poignant ghost of his idol’s fears and sorrow intertwining the broken voice, betraying the hero with an act of pleading through its sullen infidelity.  
  
“Because,” the anti-hero sighs in a mournful whimsy, “I know you. And I know that’s what you’ll want if you were hurt. And ---” Wade’s traumatized mind wanders back to the subtle chaos, the storm that raged without wind or rain. He remembers the softness the maybegrandmother had possessed as she was cradled in the arms of the public’s hero, holding strong for the man that carried the expectation of a million lives, cradling his cheek in the palm of her bloody hand. He can almost hear her fussings as she tried to quill the champion’s broken heart against the fading seconds she last had claim to. The mercenary’s smile stretches thin at the memory in a bitterness that can only fall dull to the idol’s; “And, because, that’s the only kind of person I can see you loving like this,” the killer confesses with a tinge of jealousy to both the maybegrandmother owning the hero’s love and the hero having had someone to love him in kind in such a warm, comforting, safe fulfilling fashion that leaves a yearning once it passes, “Are you telling me she wouldn’t?”  
  
“I,” color returns to the felon as he looks back to the edge of emotionless eyes that warp his image in a mirage of interrupting pastel when he hears the morally vacillating wavering on his words with a stutter, Wade having forgotten when his gaze had fallen to a contemplative darkness when the seconds dragged by with nothing; “I just want to know, Wade,” Spiderman confesses resentfully in a somber tone, looking up pleadingly at his captor as he resumes with an acidity of honest intent twisting his argument, “You weren’t there.” {Were to!} [Guess he didn't see us.] _Does that matter?_ "You didn’t see how scared she looked." [Well, that's true.] _{She looked like a_ bloody _angel.}_ [Don't romanticize it.] “You didn’t see how willing --- how _compliant_ she was with him,” a strangled cry dies in the trembling champion’s throat as he breathes, “Didn’t have the _memory_ of her face seared into the back of your eyelids and forced to relive the moment of that bullet rip through her like --- like _she_ didn’t even _matter_ , _”_ broken sobs break his flow, the younger of the duo thrashing his head in brusque flicks to stress his persistence, “watching _over_ and _over_ and _over_ and _over_ \---" Spiderman shivers within his own overpowering, whimpering silence as he falters upon a haunted thought, Wade becoming unsure upon himself whilst he watches in worry.  
  
“My own private movie of the third worst day of my life,” breathes the newest Avenger lightly to himself, “Just there for me to always have. You ---” The Spider shudders to life. Weakly with slow strides, he jars his cranium in unconscious spurts, muttering with a lacking dedication in the midst of the conversation’s existence resettling into the protector’s grim reality, “You never held her or --- loved her or,” the cherished idol rattles his head harsher as his pouting lips quiver and thin deeper into a refuting frown, “or _knew_ her. Didn’t watch those lights drain from her eyes as she became so, God ---! So _ungodly_ still;" Spiderman curls deeper into himself as he shamefully looks away, a sob trickling into his voice, "t’to feel _that_ certainty drain you. You didn’t promise ---" The young hero's lips struggle to find the concept's shape, sounds of broken letters and notes scampering away in dismay until a watery snivel bubbles out to a poignant sound. The heartbroken looks back to Wade as a sodden blush drapes across the twitching visage, chattering pass the teeth that binds the roar of anguish which wishes to howl, "I just want to know why he had to do it.”  
  
“Then, trust your team,” Wade stresses, cringing as he loses the passive gaze of his hero once again.  
  
Teeth worry at the scarred lips of the mercenary as he fights a war with his voices. For a second, hours’ worth of ignorance and paranoia and apathy filter through the trio’s exchange of suggestions and thoughts, the boxed twins too consumed with the self-preservation of their own self and the anger of having been manipulated. They holler and screech at their flout host to halt, to stop, to reconsider the comforting hand that now pushes at the knots lodged beneath spandex and skin, riding the mountains constructing the youth’s back, and curling around the opposite, quivering slope of the man’s shoulder. Wade can feel the champion stiffen beneath his touch, cautiousness and discretion straightening every edge yet the wary, grieving protector falls willingly with the delicate, guiding pull, allowing his banter partner on those midnight patrols to encase him in a warm, safe embrace while their hearts pushes at the other in their rapid, beating cadence.  
  
Basking in the returned warmth, the felon hums a soundless sigh as silent appreciation fills him for his flaccid erection which now rests limp against its unintentional restoration of the hero’s company. He breathes in the robust odor of spandex that mingles with the alluring musk of piquant shampoo and entangles the spicy aroma of Spiderman himself, nuzzling his cheek beside the protruding webbed designs splatter across the Spider’s disguise with the tightening of his arms in hopes to quell the jolting sobs that rupture through his companion; “trust your _friends,_ ” Wade murmurs tenderly to the hidden plumage of his idol upon the break in the trembling’s stifled tears, “They’ll find him.”  
  
[It’s been over an hour,] White groans in reminder, dragging his vowels like a whining child in tantrum, [I think it would be best to not hold our breaths.]  
{I thought the bank robber guy was a mundy,} chirps Yellow after humming his agreement to his illusionary half, {I wonder what’s taking so long.}  
_At this point, I really don’t care,_ Wade sneers, his arms contraction to their thoughts as he feels Spiderman’s crisp, sodden nods brush at the crook of his neck, _As long as Spidey is chilling from jumping to our side of the pasture, then, I’m fine._  
[Yeah ---] White barks. { _\--- But, Spidey won’t be,_ } Yellow sings.  
[The guy said he was a genius at some point, right?] The pale box ponders aloud.  
{It won’t be too hard for him to add the numbers,} the shrill voice cackles.  
[Hell, _we_ figured it out, so, really, how long until _he_ snaps and goes postal again.]  
_He’s grieving,_ Wade reasons, _and, we already have evidence that he’s not thinking straight; it’ll be enough time for the Avengers to get their ass in gear._  
[You don’t sound so sure of yourself there.] {Losing faith in your heroes, Wadeykins?} [Not too surprising: Spiderman wants to kill ---]  
{Captain America went and broke a promise ---}  
[Iron Man failed his favorite bushbaby ---]  
{Brucey is doing Heimdall knows what ---}  
[Clint is looking a little less cool by the disappointing second ---]  
{And, Miss. Sexy-in-Leather is off to ‘off’ someone ---}  
[And,] White jeers, [There goes our hope for redemption. I mean, if there is a sane ---]  
{Friend of the Cap’s ---}  
[Recruited by SHIELD ---]  
{Trusted by the state and nation to be a symbol of good and prosperous ---}  
[ _Trusted_ by _children_ \---]  
{And, has _action figures_ of herself being bought by _snob_ mothers for their daughters to _play_ with ---!}  
[--- Ex-assassin that goes rouge willingly by falling back to old, murderous habits while she is still clocked in for _the Avengers_ \---]  
{--- What would that say about you?}  
[--- About the freak that see voices and says we’re in a comic or a movie or a show and even a fan fiction?]  
{--- About the monster that had murdered an entire compound just because he wanted their sloppy Joes for lunch?}  
[--- About the nightmarish villain that had terrorized the entire city for an out-dated play station which was being used as payment?]  
{--- About the wannabe rapist that would fuck an emotionally vulnerable role model in his time of crisis just because he could?}  
[I can tell you that,] the pale box chides, [nothing good would come of it.]  
{They’ll be always watching.}  
[--- Always judging.]  
{--- Always waiting for you to _FUCK_ up so bad ---} [--- that they become _obligated_ to bury you in cement --- Bound and alive and awake.]  
{So, why try?} [You’re only going to ruin everyone’s lives if you continue.] {They’ll curse you like the monster you are.}  
[Nobody wants you.] {Nobody will miss you.} [Nobody will _care_ even _if_ you save the world ---] {--- Actually, you _have_ saved the world} _[THREE TIMES!]_ {AND, THEY _STILL_ WANT YOU GONE!}  
[To be as far from their turf as you possibly can so that you’re someone else’s problem.]  
_That’s not ---_  
{Children would scream if they knew you weren’t really Spidey, Wade.}  
[Heroes would gather to fuck you over if they knew what you’ve _really_ done.] {--- If they knew _everything_.}  
[And, the moment you plan to ask for Spiderman’s help in becoming a hero] _{--- BAM!!}_  
[Another maybegrandmother bites the dust. I wonder how he’ll look at you then, Wade.]  
{Yeah, sure, he always treated you like a _murderer,_ but ---} [--- he would _never_ let _this_ one go.]  
“Wade?”  
  
The odd feeling of moisture streaming down his face with only the fading puffiness of his strained, sallow eyes and the dull residue of their tracks becoming their lone evidence of existence startles the notorious murderer inquisitively as the concern oozing from a wavering voice utters his name sweetly and drags him violently back to heaving focus. The sensation of the drowning force of his adrenaline swarms through his sturdy, rushing veins and floods the aching muscle of his heart until his world blurs in hostile wonder, his pulsing core sieging and pounding upon the stable, regenerative ribs that cages its splendor with rapid, anxious assault. Pass the tight, scaled, scarlet veil, he can see the invisible eyes creased with worry as the beautiful face beneath etches itself with plain distress. He can follow the small, imperceptible movements the protector succumbs to while the gallant champion fights back his involuntary waves of hiccups as they rattle and shake him. Unvoicable regret links to his body with a cumbersome influence; his lonely arms become weighty and weak while they fall to their familiar yet unwelcomed vacancy, his tarnished skin suffering the longing of the fading, lingering heat that Spiderman abandons in favor to slid away to view in distressed marvel dies swiftly upon their battered surface.  
  
Alarm filters through the Avenger’s split expression, the apprehension evident on the man while passive eyes reflect their subject of worry in scaled texture; guilt pollutes the felon’s mind as he watches, the prior addled countenance of the distraught youth sharpening the remorse poisoning the criminal’s confidence in secret. Wade tries for a smirk, for a laugh and a joke that would demean himself to lighten the situation, but, the grin becomes a pitiful tremor flowing pass a blistered corner of torn lips, the laugh choking out to fall in a watery whimper, the joke swallowed by silence’s ravenous reality as it quiets the loquacious mercenary into a miserable spectacle. A sad smile breaks across the Spider’s exposed features, light shining a dull glimmer across the wet, dimpled cheeks; a gale of loneliness and care permeates from the sorrowful view as teeth worried lips crack and ready to shape shaky words for only to be deterred with great dismay by a sudden string of high pitched screeching that shatters the heavy stillness looming crudely over the duo and stunning the teary pair to the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say I’m sorry for the long read --- but, I’m not. Initially, it was going to be longer, but I cut it into two since I doubted anyone wanting to read an almost eighteen paged chapter (by 7.5 font size) with worth that is highly suspect. So, if you like the story so far & if you'll be so kind as to leave me a comment, I'll very much appreciate it. It is my fuel source. This thing's life blood. They TELL me you're REAL & kick my ass when I want to quit.
> 
> Also, first time writing a flirty-sexy scene. Don’t know how I did there or it was even warranted --- Admittedly, kind of scared on that front. Mind telling me how I did? 
> 
> Plus, I'm open to criticism and editorial opinion. They help everyone, not just me --- God, I'm whiny. Whelp, thanks for reaching this line. Till the next chapter.
> 
> On another note, I kept a promise --- I am pleased.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings of |** Implied Past Rape/Non-Con **| & |**Discussions of Rape **|**
> 
> For those that may find this chapter's context discomforting to read.

[You’re crying in front of Spiderman,] White sighs as his host breathes in a slow drag of the anxious, musky air with the last of his subtle tears shriveling upon his dry, flaking hide, [I can’t believe you _coddled_ the bastard, yet alone _touched_ him, and now you are _crying_ in front of him. Can it _get_ much worse?]  
{CRY BABY! CRY BABY,} Yellow chants to the settling of their startled heart with the piercing quality of his given voice, {Wade’s a CRY BABY!!}  
[Evidently, it can,] groans the pale box in time with Wade snarling a feeble whine towards the venomous snickering that breaks the sunny box’s hymn. Quick, bodacious notes praise the boxed delusion’s morbid delight with its sharp clamor, the strident sound splintering into harsh fragments as a mocking chide filters through the shrill laughter, {and, you call _him_ “Baby Boy!” _Geez!_ That’s fucking _ironic!}_

A delicate shade of apology hesitates to shadow over the hero’s concerned features as the screeching, monotone rhythm of an unknown source persists in howling its announcement of its disruptive arrival through the dour atmosphere, weeping unrelentingly within the pair’s ears. The sad, worn smile of the public’s champion struggles to retain its wavering form as the pale, thinned lips crease lopsidedly upon the human face into a quiet act of contrition. At a single corner, Wade can feel his mouth twitch north at the amusing sight while a dreary roll shrugs through his shoulder in a reflexive reply.

_Can we not do this right now,_ Wade asks more to the exasperated voice than to the giggling rectangle, watching the soft smile both sharpen happily to his bemused gesture and disappear with the impassive stare of its owner as the willowy man glances tentatively over the bend of his bound arm, a stern, curious frown growing dismally despite the interruptive hiccup that squeaks against the serious image.  
[Are you going to cry, again, Wade,] the pale box asks gravely in apathy.  
_No,_ thinks Wade crisply after the small tremor burned and died through him at the frustrated voice’s implication, _No, that’s not ---_  
{“That’s not” what, Wade,} asks the sunny box as the criminal’s mind abandons its thoughts for a glimmer of truth.  
_I, I just,_ the red clad man stutters to start, _I just want, no. No, I just don’t_ \--[-- But, you will, Wade,] the white box promises grimly, [By the end of this, you will care and you will leave New York like the coward you _try_ to hide through faux buoyancy and gaiety and you _will_ pray that the only day you return to this rancid city is when Spiderman is too far _dead_ to laugh righteously in your twisted, deformed face.]

Luminous scarlet bleeds over the defined edges of the lithe defender’s visage, illuminating the scowling countenance that furrows profoundly with dire emotion as the shine of the blurry light catches on the burrowed glass of the mirrored lenses. The gleam curves with the subtle bend in a dazzling sparkle until the light blinks to nothing and abandons the glowering hero to the brilliant afternoon radiance that is held at bay by the dreary shadows that sought asylum in the dusty confines of the murderer’s apartment.

[By the end of this mess,] White growls, his voice carrying his drained vehemence, [you will be dancing the tango with Sugar Skull. _All,_ because--] a low, irritated huff pours into a rumbling snarl, the noise curling into a razor sharp bite and tearing for wounds with each twisted utterance, [-- you not only got _almost_ USED by the fucker willingly, but the jackass has now _seen you_ cry. How _bloody_ wonderful.]  
{So much for our bad-ass, cool factor we were angling with,} Yellow sighs in an audible gripe, eliciting a stunned coldness to permeate from the infuriated voice until the pale rectangle breathes his reluctant understanding in an impossible screech.  
[Hold on, are _you_ telling _me_ you still _LIKE THE BASTARD,_ ] White hollers.  
{Well, _yeah,_ } admits the cheerier voice offhandedly, {kind of.}  
[What in the blazing _Hell_ ,] White squeaks horrified.  
{What,} Yellow calls confused, {the guy’s a looker.}  
[WE HAVEN’T EVER EVEN _SEEN_ HIS _FACE!!]_  
{Eh,} the sunny box says as he wishes for shoulders to shrug with, {we just know these things.}  
_I concur_ , Wade thinks with a smile, _from that jawline, I can honestly say that the complete set is something to look forward to -- Yum._  
{Then, again, with an ass like his -- he can be _fuck-_ ugly and we’ll still do ‘em up against a wall like it was our religion.}  
_True ‘dat,_ Wade hums merrily as he bends his body opposite of his hero’s attention to peek around the swell of the champion’s right hip for a glimpse of his and Yellow’s enjoyment.

[Wha! F’ah, no. No, Okay ---] grounds out White hatefully, shocking the felon and his golden twin back to attention, [Fine, he can be a looker. He can be Adonis impersonated or whatever you bloody fuckers-]- _Eh, no._ {Gross, man.} _Yeee’ah, so not on our kink list._ {Until it is-}[-HE can _be_ whatever YOU _FUCKERS_ WANT! BUT, what about Spiderman trying to _use_ us, huh,] White screeches, [What about him manipulating us with sex and our emotions for his own fucking self without the hint of caring about the aftermath or how we would feel about being (for the lack of a better word) _raped_ as he jumps out the window to be a raging, psychotic, piss-poor cosplaying imitation of _US-_ -?! _How_ are _you_ going to write _THAT_ off!]  
{Our mama raped us and we still like her,} the active voice points out bleakly.  
[Previous passed experiences before Deadpool are highly suspect and cannot be used as evidence at this time,] White grumbles disdainfully.  
_And, that’s beside the point,_ the insane host growls in addition.  
{Well, it’s not really manipulation if we let it happen,} Yellow informs lamely, {Yet, alone -- well, the R-word.}  
_[‘What,’]_ White and Wade spit together in staggered astonishment.  
{“It’s not really manipulation if we let it happen. Yet, alone--”}-- _Us saying “What?” is not us asking for you to repeat yourself, Yellow,_ Wade speaks gradually in interjection.  
[But, is _us_ asking you to explain your fucking self,] growls the pasty box in persistence, [because, _you’re not making any flippin’ SENSE!]_  
{Well, I mean, we noticed.}  
[What?] _What the Hell are you on about ---?_  
{We noticed from the beginning that Spidey was acting weird and-}[-No. We didn’t,] White barks with an attitude of alarm, [Spiderman was--]{--Spidey _was_ acting blatantly weird and we _did_ notice it way before we _let_ ourselves be _driven_ into the wall,} bites the golden rectangle in return, {Go on. Go check, I’ll wait. It’s in chapter two, right after I called ‘Tall, Dumb,  & Ugly’ here a “kiss ass” --- Go on, shoo --}[-- _Ah'm-_ -]{-- _Seeee'ee?_ We _did_ notice that Spidey was acting weird and _WE_ didn’t stop it then all because,} Yellow stops in falter to the weight of his thought, stuttering hesitantly on in quiet volume with an echo of care and horror reverberating after each sound, {because ---- because, I think we just wanted it so, so _badly_ that we just -- we just _stopped_ caring.}  
_That’s not_ \--{-- Oh, it _is_ true. I’m inside your head; remember, Stupid? What makes you think that you can hide that from me,} Yellow snaps dully.

The spandex bridge spaced between the two eyes of the iconic mask puckers to Spiderman’s frustrated groan as he whines in his private ponder with his quivering lips. Dull crowns of the protector’s teeth abuse and pull at their lower lip’s swollen form in fretful deliberation, the chapped surface blooming to deeper hue under the pale layer of dead skin gripping selfishly to their past body. The shrill choir of the toneless noise still screams as the bloody light washes over the unyielding emotion plastered to the youthful features blushed in grief and half bound by spandex in repeat.

[But, HE WOULD’VE STARTED IT!!] White hollers in protest.  
{AND, THAT MAKES IT, _RIGHT_ ,} Yellow hollers back, {Do you even know how that _sounds-_ -? Spidey may have started the flirting. Spidey may have offered what he was offering and HE _may_ have even gone all the way just for the _chance_ of us unbinding him, but that would be him _dubiously_ consenting, him hesitating and second guessing and wondering “Why.”}  
[And, _that_ would be _him_ R-wording _us_ ,] the paler hallucination nearly shrieks as he tries to reason, a tinge of hysteria oozing into his tempo, [We _want_ every partner we should have to be consenting and reciprocating _adults_ that recognize and comprehend what they are getting into _and_ vice versa. We want them to be approving of everything there is and _desiring_ all we have to offer and vocalizing _freely_ what they don’t. We _want_ all-]{-well, now, _that's_ just wishful thinking.} _Shush. [Really?]_ {Sorry. Had to say it.}[-parties to have total control over their own situation during the course with complete understanding and acceptance so that we don’t EVER become even a _fraction_ of a shade of that _bitch,_ that _MONSTROUS,_ _little_ \----] A string of hostile snarls and incomplete sounds scream and cry in spite before dying away in frustrating reluctance to form a heavy, grimacing sigh, White murmuring on in a simmering haze of his fading wrath, [So, that we’re nothing like _Her_ and if we had not spoken up and if Wade had just let go with Spidey not full-heartedly agreeing to his own proposal ---] A withheld sob, [we wouldn’t want that, Yellow. We would never agree to that.]  
{But, that still doesn’t change the fact of what _we_ were almost willing to do,} Yellow says slowly and unquestionably to his snowy counterpart, {it doesn’t change the fact that we had let things get too far out of hand --- or, that we _wanted_ things to be that way.}  
_What are you talking_ \--{-- Spidey has been one of our favorite, all-time porn stars,} hurries the sunny rectangle, {from wither it be just average, flexible people cosplaying him as they take it up the ass to him bending with his own glorious body on those late night, lonely, wet dream hours and showing us that perky, tight ass --- and, we haven’t been with someone, disgusted by our look or not, in _years_.} A sigh, {Sure, we have those nice ladies and gents every now and then, but they always have this same _look_ once we show them even a little bit of our skin and our resolve just -- shatters and we end up paying for a conversation or two just so they don’t feel bad and so that _we_ don’t feel like an idiot. Maybe (if we’re very, very lucky) a pity handie would be their goodbye, but that doesn’t stop us from wanting to _hold_ someone --- from wanting a passion, a _need_ to share between two people. And, Spidey ---?

{When else is he going to be all up in our business in that hot way in reality? Touching us and feeling us up like his life depended on it? We _wanted_ to take what he was willing to give for those few, short, blissful minutes before he couldn’t go on. There was a _thought_ about _how_ we would offer our particular set of skills in exchange for a real-time, real-life, tumbling, sweaty round on our bed with moaning and the absence of constricting, tight uniforms just to see if we could, to see if he _is_ a screamer and feel something -- to feel something _old_ again. We wanted the opportunity to feel like we weren’t some freak or monster or subject of pity _or_ something to be _toyed_ with and Spidey? He saw us. No, he _sees_ us beneath the _scars_ and the _puss_ and the _disfigurement-_ }[-After some thorough _coaxing_ ,] White huffs to himself. _{Really?}_ [Just returning the favor-]{-and we _haven’t BEEN_ with something that wasn’t plastic or cold in years and --- and, we _wanted_ him to use us so we could delude ourselves into thinking that we mattered on some twisted, little level. That maybe we _were_ special ----} Silence oozes into a slow flood and fills the aching confines of the mercenary’s mind as the yellow box drifts off to its embrace with his thirds, watching as Spiderman struggles to lift his bound hands farther up the curvature of his back as the light dies away and darkening the room once again in its absence. Nervousness and disappointment fills the vacate spot that the hero’s glower leaves while the penetrating call viciously endures in its grating shriek that screeches within the dusty space, the champion exhaling noisily together with the once cheery voice lodged in the shattered sanity of the red clad killer, the dissipating breath saturated in the heavy presence of overwhelming fatigue and unenthusiastic worry.

{Look,} Yellow starts again, {I was serious in the last chapter and I was serious two paragraphs ago, guys, and I’ll be serious again. We liked what Spidey did--}[--Before we realized he was duping us,] the drained voice tries to growl in his failing defense, but listens to his own words whine lamely to its end as it carries the last of his fight towards the conflict, [then, it was all about the shame and the disgust in ourselves that is drowning us, that is numbing Wade and fueling _my_ rage and being hindered by _your_ denial.]  
{I _know_ what Spidey did was wrong, White,} sighs Yellow tiredly in need to sway, {I’m not saying it was, but, it’s just --} A breathy groan sings airily at the sunny box’s pause, {-- It’s just that we are _so-ho’oh_ fucking _ugly,_ guys! We are _hideous, gruesome, grotesque_ \--- Fuck, we give Miley _Cyrus’s_ fashion sense a run for its overpriced sales’ tags and we _still_ come out on top. We are _ugly_ and Spidey knows it and if he had a choice, _any_ choice at all that could help him flee besides seducing us for the key, he would have taken it ---- but, he didn’t and he did what he did and soon, (very, very soon,) after everything settles, after that Mundie is caught and jailed, after he has some time to think and realize how he touched a rancid, semi-decomposed version of Ryan Reynolds--}[--He doesn’t exist in this universe, dummy--]{--in the most _embarrassing_ and most _mortifying_ spot and done something a _little--}[Pfft]{-_ -Okay, a _LOT_ unmoraled, he’ll be horrified. Maybe, even more than us. He’ll be horrified in himself for stooping so low for his own desperateness and maybe he’ll think he caused a grown man to cry and feel bad for that, too, but he’ll mainly be horrified in us. He’ll wonder why Wade hadn’t notice _sooner_ on how he was acting so _fucking_ out of character and letting him do the things that _sane_ Spidey would _NEVER_ do. He’ll wonder how Wade _thought_ of him sliding to his knees and playing around with his tented zipper, promising to give him a blow job moments after his maybegrandmother just died and he’ll remember the fucking moans this idiot cried as they _begged_ him to continue. He’ll wonder what made Wade stop him but wonder on what the _Hell_ had allowed Wade in letting him to even _get_ to that point. He will know how we liked him up against us with him grinding his knee down our junk and him feeling so ungodly warm. He will know how we liked it despite _knowing_ of his reluctance. He _will_ know and the worst part is --- so will we.

{I don’t think there is an ounce of denial out there that could make us feel like we haven’t done something wrong to Spidey or a _fucking_ dream that would lead us to believe that Spidey would be doing anything even _remarkably_ sexy around us, yet alone _with_ us, without some deranged angle or desperate need,} the sunny rectangle confesses numbly, {He’s too pretty and perfect to want us like that and I’m actually scared to say that this maybe the last time we’ll see him. That when Stark comes to pick him up or when he gets an opportunity to ditch us, he’ll never look back -- he’ll take it in his little, spider-spliced heartbeat just so that he won’t have to be alone with us.}  
_Bye, bye, Spidey who’s scarred for life,_ Wade thinks in a stunned stupor.  
{Hello, lonely taco nights in New York,} Yellow finishes with a sour note.

Blood roars pass the shell of Wade’s ear in a deafening demeanor as it beckons its host’s attention to the thundering muscle that beats against its boney cage. A subtle dullness spreads over mutilated hide of the mercenary with the aberrant, quiet mind, the feeling devouring the null void of the cancer’s pain and the accustomed touch of leather for a tepid, numb chill about the open sores and aching blemishes marring the felon’s tumor riddled flesh in a dry, barbed sensation of frozen dread. Wade watches his job stare off to nowhere down the steep drop off its bound shoulder’s slope as its image lingers dutifully in the sights of the exhausted, sallow eyes of his keeper that remains masked behind the apathetic disguise of pure white. Weakly, the feared immortal tilts his head in lifeless consideration.

_What do you think he’s looking at,_ the holder of the twin voices asks torpidly in deaden distress, hoping to overlook the past minute of deliberation and the extensive moment of a dream turning nightmare.  
{Maybe he’s looking at his own perky butt this time,} Yellow quips unhelpfully.  
_I don’t remember the last time Spiderman’s ass ever blinked a red light before._  
{Maybe _you_ just haven’t been staring at his ass _long_ enough,} the citrus hued rectangle retorts, causing his host to gasp in horror; _Why I never--_  
[Why are you doing this, Yellow,] demands White of his golden half in a slow, unnerved manner.

{What,} Yellow barks startled.  
_What’s he doing,_ Wade questions curiously.  
[Why are you _trying_ so _hard_ to make us still like him,] the snowy box solicits heavily as grave bewilderment now spoil his words, [Why are you trying so hard so that by the end of this we don’t just _leave_ like we normally do?]  
{Oh. Wu’well, wu’he,} Yellow staggers, {no, I, I’m doing this because we hold as much responsibility for what had happened as he did. Because, I think Spidey _isn’t_ thinking right and that we _did_ kidnap him--}[--For his own _good_ ,] sneers White.  
{Well, _yeeeee’s_ ,} agrees the sunny box, {“For his own good,” but -- that doesn’t stop him from _wanting_ to leave or be _furious_ or have his desire for escape _hindered,_ does _IT?_ It doesn’t STOP what he had thought had to be done, done. Or, the fact that the only way for him to get _properly_ freed was, and still _is,_ in seducing us into a complying zombie that will overlook the fact that Spidey _really_ wants to be something he isn’t by killing another man that kind of deserves to die a horrible death ten times over. It doesn’t change the _FACT_ that we feel this low _void_ of prickly, little _disappointment_ swirling around in our stomach on how we had gained the good sense in stopping the fan- _fucking-_ TASTIC SHOW,} the body of the trio recoils in a depressive cringe at the exclaimed confession as Wade deepens his defensive curl towards his core in kind with his paler box at the truth that curdles the respect he had acquired for himself in the past few months and replaces it with a new found repulsion for his now fitting image. {That we miss the feeling of something _living_ touching us like that with no hesitation being shown or that there are tiny plots floating around in the back of _all_ our minds to try and _feel_ that again. It doesn’t stop the fact that we are as much to blame for this shit as he is, but, unlike _Spidey_ who only tried to manipulate us because he _wants_ the fucker who killed his maybegrandmother, we did it because we wanted to feel how wet and warm his mouth was. To have the image of him on his knees and memorize his weight against us.} A cold, dead bark of a forced chuckle rots in the mind of Wade as the yellow box snuffs in his own memory, {Not even to get our rocks off, just to have something _new_ for the spank bank --- Geez, we’re really the only ones _to_ blame if we were finally ready in being honest to each other.}  
[But ---] _That’s-_ -{--Not to mention the fact that we knew Spidey was going to do something stupid when he started sauntering _our_ way,} the yellow square declares in a growl, {Or, that we could have just sent Cap in the beginning of this fucking mess to go after Spidey instead of him sending us. This whole _fucking_ hour and debate would never even have expanded or existed in the first place. I mean --- we _are_ better at tracking people down than _him,_ guys. Soldier whose occupation is nothing more than a glorified lap dog met killer who finds his mark with nothing more than an anagram and a terrible description of the fucker on a triple brewed pot of bad coffee and unstable insanity. I mean, even _if_ Cap had lost Spiderman to the crowd, we would _still_ have found the fucker before Weepy here. Oh, and, then, there’s the whole part about us being able to nip this whole, (slightly) _entire_ situation in the butt before Captain Holier-than-Thou manhandled us in that sexy-scary way.}  
[Wu’ah ---?] _How?_  
{For, _fff’fah_ \--! We HEARD the goddamn bastard that held up the place _run_ to the BACK of the _BANK_ and _RAN_ out the _door_ there,} screams Yellow, {If we weren’t watching Spidey crying over some dead, bloody broad, we could’ve _caught_ the guy and ended all this bullshit before it even happened, but, _nooooooooooo’oh_.}

_That’s not-_ -[--What are you,] White stutters, [Why are _you_ defending him? What is _THERE_ to care about?]  
{FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WHITE,} Yellow howls, {WHAT IS IT THAT _YOU_ WANT, huh? Why are _YOU_ trying so _hard_ to blame Spidey for _all_ of this when _we’re_ the ones to really blame? _Wah_ \-- _Is it because he wanted to leave ~~?_ I mean, we can’t _blame_ him for wanting to _leave,_ can we? We can’t hold him responsible for something he _finally_ shares in common with everyone else? For him going 'default,' again.}  
[He didn’t have to start _THAT_ to get our compliance,] White defends, [We’ve gone through enough as it is. We don’t need his bull shitting on everything else. HE _SHOULDN’T_ HAVE DONE _THAT!]_  
{How ELSE was he supposed to get free?} Yellow demands, {what other than _sex_ have we showed signs in interest that was directed at _him?_ What, no, _Hell!_ If we were in _Spidey’s_ situation, locked in with the biggest pervert we know with our blonde hair and tan, smooth, battle-scarred skin again after several shitty plans have fallen through and us really, _really_ wanting to leave against our guard’s wishes, what do you think _we would_ have done to get free, huh?}  
[Not THAT,] White growls.  
{Fuck _that!}_ Yellow hollers, {Not even nine minutes in is when we would be shaking our fat ass to the nearest guard and bending into every possible, conceivable position we’ve ever seen in a gay porno that doesn’t involve breaking our back. Or, at least try to get all Brock Samson on their ass. To Hell with the hour and the cheap escape plans that Spidey had tried -- AND, what if _our_ roles were reversed, huh? What if Spidey was the one guarding _us_ and not the other way around?}  
[We,] the pale box squeaks.  
_We would talk ---_  
{Oh, yeah! “Talk,”} the sunny box echoes, _{AND_ hovering about him like he was the fucking Second Coming. Even _if_ all our limbs were bound or broken or completely absent from the room, we would find a way --- We would be talking about how _tight_ the cuffs are and how _kinky_ Spidey had gotten and how if Spidey wanted us so _badly,_ all he could have done was JUST SAY SO! We would be talking all the _shit_ right out of our ass and hanging off him like we were his goddamn coat as we COP A FEEL and _peel_ our face off the wall after HE _PUNCHED_ IT THERE ----! Sure, we’ll say it was a good distraction method and _joke,_ but it’s still sexual harassment and _we’re_ using it like a twisted form of greeting. For _fuck’s_ sake, we’re doing it for the Hell of it and you’re complaining about it when the _tables_ have _turned?_ When _Spidey_ is doing it to _us?_ Well, at least _we_ like it. Him? _He_ doesn’t even like us like that and from how many times Mr. No-Kill has practically killed us because of it, I can honestly say he doesn’t like us doing that. (Liking dudes is now a question on the table because of that little confidence display, but) SPIDEY DOES _NOT_ like _US_ like _THAT._ He doesn’t like us doing _ANYTHING to_ his perfect, little ass and he’s _certainly_ wouldn’t want to be doing any of _THAT_ stuff with a face that looks like the fused, physical equivalence of _Batman & Robin_ and Nicki Manaj’s attempt to be --- Well, let’s be honest, the better part of _anything_ at _all._ (Just with the texture of a well-cooked cheese pizza.)}  
_“Bbbb_ 'ITCH! Don’t you talk about my _Gurl_ like that,” Wade sasses hostilely with a snap of his fingers, but freezing with the sudden chill brought by the curious look of his internal conflict’s subject burning into him, “ah, not you, sorry.” _And, you’re starting to sound like White, Yellow._  
{DON’T-COMPARE-ME-TO- _HIM,_ } Yellow shrieks. [DON’T-COMPARE-HIM-TO- _ME,_ ] White replies in return, [and, who the _FUCK_ is BATMAN?!]

With a great air of reluctance and care, Spiderman slowly uncurls from his expelled sigh that he sung in tune with the sunny box, turning away from his shoulder and the hidden attraction that lies just beyond its broad bulk. The public’s defender drifts to his knees with a defeated frown and grace, the sudden movement pushing his keeper back from his stupor and places the red man in horror as the black bar fastening the champion’s twin holds to worthlessness fall from their charming housing placed at the hollow of the Spider’s back.

_Ah, guys,_ the felon beckons to his insanity as he follows the restricted path the cuffs create, memorizing how the shackle curves nimbly over the engorged arc that marks the hero’s spine’s conclusion.  
{And, to answer your stupid, _fucking_ question from before,} the once cheery box snarls in favor to his host’s call and recognize the progression being displayed in reality, {Spidey is our friend.}  
[We have others,] strives the tired voice with an edge of hostility.  
_Um,_ gah’yeeeeeas, the deranged tries again lamely as he watches, motionlessly and in the skip of his heart, the slender restraints march clearly over the embedded soles sown into the uniformed, red, web detailed boots.  
{Oh, yeah, we have friends,} Yellow agrees, {but, not like him.}  
[But, Domino ---? Or, Weasel?]  
{They’re great, but they’re business friends. They don’t say “Hi” without some job offer or favor or information lurking shortly after. They don’t stay around us without some form of pity pushing their actions or that we’re showing them our best imitation of the immovable object on their recliner to the point they _can’t_ kick us out of _their_ own place. They don’t understand our humor or know how awesome it truly is. They don’t keep us from dying just for the sake of us not dying and having our mind be ripped from the Fade again despite knowing that we’ll come back. And, _they_ haven’t wanted to be around us for so long to actually have us give merit and a genuine promise to an honest-to-an-imaginary-god date on a _weekly_ schedule that we would (and _have)_ originally just titled as a sham and a reminder on how we actually _don’t_ have friends. That they kept to their _drunken_ pledge without us having to guilt them with puppy dog eyes or our very real, very sad and lonely attitude of someone who just tries too damn hard.}  
[But --]{-- I mean, they care (somewhere deep, deep, deep down under all those scary glares,) but --- without the unaliving and maiming and life-threatening situations that ultimately aren’t life-threatening to us, and the assholes of the world dictating what we do and how they’re fucking everything up, or who’s out to get whom, what’s there to talk about?}  
[But --]{-- And, then, there’s Preston. (The fucking robotic saint with an ass and sass.) _She_ can pull all our strings to the point that we almost not care _what_ she wanted or what the fucking world _needed_ from us (AGAIN!!) but, _she_ (SHE!) pulled through for _us._ She went out of _her_ way to help and save _our_ ass and --- and, it maybe rare as fuck, but _she_ calls us knowing what’ll happen, knowing that _we’re_ just going to keep talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking until she can’t handle us talking and talking and talking and talking for another minute and does the fucking _weirdest_ of things. She - Tells - Us that she’s hanging up. She _POLITELY hangs up_ AFTER we spent all her dry as an ass patience down to nothing and AFTER _she_ called us to begin with. She’s decent to the most indecent and most unworthy person on this fucked up planet for _decent’s_ sake (and, let's not even get STARTED on the girl--)--but, can we really call her our “friend?” I mean, this can all be chalked up to her being our metaphorical wife that we keep secret from our first family-}[-Whom don’t exist-]{-and, to her having to be stuck with us because Bob mark two Scottish edition had _forced_ her to know what shit fucks with us because apparently _she_ didn’t have no other _choice_ BUT to be settled with us for our _appealing_ quality of “had more than enough _room-”}[-_ -Like, having three separate thinking processes leaves the entire _world_ as free-balling elbow space--]{-So, her doing everything she’s been doing and being _fucking_ personable can be a continental mixture of her being our reluctant roommate, us helping her, and no one being capable of seeing her for a good, long while and having to find some way to _not_ find us annoying or face the inevitable possibility of a battle between her new found insanity and ours. I mean, I would like to call her our friend (if not for the simple fact that it would be a plus one against Logan-)}[--Whom has an entire compound of children and supposed teachers looking up to him and leaves him the incredible, green-inducing envy of us--]{-but, that so-called friendship is built on her having no one to really talk to, our incurable insanity, and our-}[--As in her and us--]{-shared “interest” that leaves her and, regrettably, us obligated to not- _not_ be there for each other. She’s basically our own Patti Dellacroix. It hardly seems fair ---}  
[But --]{-- _Aaaa'nd,_ Logan _is_ awesome and all, (Bro-bros for life, yo!), but the last time we ever even _HEARD_ from the fucker is nearly five months ago on a staticy phone call with him growling about the expenses to the Black Bird we crashed just before we saved the fucking world that he and his urban family lives on for the _second_ time in this decade --- not even a cheap pack of beer as a _“Thank you for saving our hot piece of ass of a hot Southern belle, Bub,”}_ Yellow gurgles from his nonexistent throat in a poor imitation of Logan’s snarl, _{“She’s_ really _thankful to y’er with her double-Ds and tight, black, leather uniform and purr’dee smile and she would just_ love _t’ah-_ ”}[- YELLOW!!] {WHAT?! O’ooooouh, you know you would’ve liked it too,} he pouts.

[But, Spidey --] White attempts once more for an argument except Yellow sharply cuts him off to cry, {-- And, _Spidey_ is the closest thing to a real-life, dictionary defined-} _[‘--You_ _don’t know how to read--’]{-_ bona fide _friend_ that we have! (Well, a type of friend that we really, really, _REALLY_ want and, maybe, even kind of _need?)_ He’s something that’s almost _normal._ Something that’s not just _lounging_ around feeling sorry for ourselves or drinking beer or fighting or killing or dying or doing a deed that more than one of us will regret in the morning. He gives us something that’s almost so extraordinarily _mundane_ that we thought would never experience --- something so cliché and humanly basic that it becomes this sort of _odd_ feeling, this weird sensation that almost feels like what some describe as _("belonging,_ was it?") That’s almost _homey_ feeling. It's kind of disgusting in a "nice" sort of way.}  
_Oh, Dear God, Marker, and Allah_ \--- [Yellow’s gone sappy ---]  
_THE WORLD’S ENDING AGAIN! QUICK; SOMEONE CALL “THE ROCK!”_ No, wait. _TOM CRUISE!_  
_{H’haaaaaaaaah,_ funny. Yeah, I know. Me, serious? BLASPHEMY,} the lemony rectangle sneers, _{“Oh mi gosh, we’re monsters. We’re assholes. We're perverts. We can’t like Spidey for more than his ass ~~”_ Mr. Mc-Kills-A-Lot-and-Gets-Paid-per-Head here don’t need no emotions that ain’t giddy at the sight of blood and mark him human. BRING ON THE FLAMING ORPHANAGE, PEOPLE! Wade _fucking_ Winston Wilson is too much of a genetic freak that was made from a test tube to have empathy and he’s coming to town. _Ho! Ho!_ Fucking a _hoe!_ Burn the mistletoe! Clear the streets! BLCs and we're bringing their girl boners pleasure. Hallelujah! But, you want to know what, asshats? Wrong _fucking_ back story! Grade A prime Long Pig right here, folks! Ain’t no substitute, guaranteed. Torture, abuse, and rejection origin tale, full throttle, Bitches! With _all_ those soggy, bloody, mind altering trimmings that makes it _soooo’ho_ D-E-licious. Yum!}  
_Okay, ouch._ [Well, we _still_ forced Spiderman to be our friend in the beginning, too, you know. Just as we did with everyone else. He is not special even from _your_ twisted perspective upon things.]  
{I _know_ how we (kind of) forced the super, awesome friendship of ourselves upon his naïve, little head and how we (almost successfully) tried to unalive and dislimb him those first three months of actually knowing of his existence, because we were kind of being paid to while we also wanted him to know how much we did _not_ appreciate our costume design being stolen and butchered into something (resentfully) cool,} whines Yellow, {I know he mostly says “Hi” to us to make sure we ain’t doing something – _“E’ Laygle.”_ (Or, however you say that word.) I know he doesn’t call us despite all those expensive and all those personalized hand-made-with-love business cards we give him and how we don’t even know what he _looks_ like, yet alone know what _name_ to scream as we jack off to his newspaper photo. I know that a lot of the time he doesn’t have the patience or time to be around us even when we _really DO_ need someone and I know that he maybe _(very)_ hates us now or maybe always hated us to begin with and treated us like a person (an actual to _fucking_ God _person)_ who just happens to kill people as a ruse to keep an eye on us, but --- he is the closest thing to a friend in this time zone _slash_ era _slash_ century that we got ---}

[Besides Logan, right?]  
_No, that assfucker took all my gaming stations as payment for that stupid bird that couldn’t fly straight --- I’m still thinking about cutting off that Jackass’s head and making a_ Nick _Carlyle fan out of him._  
{Gifting to him the daily sight of our glorious, toned ass.}  
_And, giving him the direct line to our "Double Bunned Salutes" that are coming that day-_ -{--EVERYDAY is _Bean_ Day. Yay!} Wade snickers, _serves him right for stealing my precious, custom made My Little Ponies 3DS handheld. And, the Pinkie Pie charm that was on it, too._  
{She will be missed,} Yellow weeps mournfully.  
_Only before I find the fucker that bought her and take her back from his broken, Brony fapping fingers,_ the deranged growls.  
{Aren’t we a Brony?}  
_Pfft, they wish,_ Wade chuckles, _to call me something so mediocre. No, I’m more like a Highly-Enthusiastic-Procurer-Of-Esteemed-Memorabilia-and-Unknowingly-Close-and-Personal-Friend-to-the-Lovely-Alicorn-Goddess-that-Happens-to-Lives-On-the-Twenty-Fifth-Floor-of-a-Complex-Housing-in-Oregon-with-a-Splendid-View-of-the-Land-and-Border-Devolvement-of-the-Town-and-Needs-to-Take-Out-Her-Trash-and-Find-a-Better-Ensemble-than-the-Mess-in-Her-Closet-while-I-also-Own-the-Entire-CastIng-Fully-Constructed-Velvety-Costume-that-I-Do-Happen-to-Wear-while-Reciting-Episode-Dialogue-in-a-Whimsical-Ballet fanatic._  
{Wow. That’s a, that’s a “wow.”}

[I still say we ditch Spiderman,] White growls in response to Wade’s admission, [the fucker still did what he did with little hesitation in the beginning. Who knows what’ll do next with the amount of time we’re now offering him, with the amount of trust that you’re willing to let him keep. Just by the action ALONE makes him in leagues with --]{-- But, he _isn’t,_ White} Yellow calls, pausing to simmer in the uncharacteristic quiet that holds them before pleading lowly in a beseeching whimper, {If _I_ understand that he did what he did because we weren’t letting him go out to play a real-life round of _Murder_ and _not_ for some deranged round of kicks and giggles, then I know for a fact that you do, too, because (and, I’m only going to say this once -----) you’re the more -- _lah'gee-cal_ of this particular crowd.} _Hey!!_ {And, he _isn’t_ going to be doing anything sexy with us again, so there’s no need to be on edge like _this_ around him. He’s just going to be our friend again, White, our very resentful and very reluctant friend again that plays video games with us and tries not to laugh at our poorly-timed-and-kick-ass jokes. So, please don’t take that away, White. He was just sad. He _is_ sad, so, please don’t take him away.}  
[But,] White wavers, [but, he, we ---]  
{We’re only human, White,} Yellow sighs, {no matter how many people will look or say otherwise, no matter how _we_ think or say or do otherwise, in the end, we’re only human and so is he. Just give him another chance.}

Wade listens, feeling the quiet keep them in unnerving company as the sound of demoralizing nothingness spew gratingly from his infernal insanity in hesitance. The sensation of his boxed companions scuffle about his tattered mind against the mounting agony of his brain constricting against the curved detention of his cranium overwhelms him, his own body shuffling to deter the odd feeling while his ears strain to hear the waiting reply; _Well,_ Wade asks finally, hoping that his mind finally made itself up for him on the issue.  
[Fine,] the paler twin snarls disdainfully in reluctant surrender, [I’ll give the fucker a second chance and repress the stupid memory that you two so obviously think is _our_ fault.]  
{Well, _I_ wouldn’t go _that_ far,} Yellow croons merrily, {the goal maybe a boner killer but Spidey’s still fucking hot on his knees and _man!_ did he feel good up against us.}  
[Well, I see that you back to being you’re insufferable self,] White gripes.  
{What can I say? Being annoying is a Hell of a lot better than being dry and dull.}  
[Like _me,]_ the cultured tone of White’s accent sneers lightly in question.  
{Now, _I_ didn’t say that,} the returned cheery textured voice defends, {but, I did _imply_ it.}

“Wade,” a tear riddled voice calls, commanding the attention of the mercenary back to its owner with skilled practice and ease.

Soft and mild in its weaken state, a smile is found to be splintered across Spiderman’s face with glee radiating amusingly in party as the requested returns to him. Wade spits a chuckle at the sight of his (slightly forgiven) friend as he drinks the sight of him in, finding it humorous for the willowy character to be pleased in the events of things as he holds aloft his bounds between the pair for the duo to admire the miracle bar hindering such a powerful strength with shared interest.

[Wait ----] _{What?!}_  
_Wha’aaaaaaaat’s going on,_ Wade asks internally, drawing back from the outstretched arms while puzzlement and confusion twist the murderer’s countenance openly.  
[Ah’mmm,] comes the manifestation of the mercenary's Ego's most intelligent reply,  
{Crazy’s contagious and Spidey’s fucked,} supplies the Id's materialization helpfully.  
_But, Spidey’s smart,_ the insane complains as he fidgets in his seated spot, _Even_ if _he should go crazy, his craziness would have_ some _bizarre connection to sense._  
[We’re dumb as a brick but supply the oddest of wisdom,] White points out, [So, anything’s honestly possible at this point.]  
{Wait!} The sunny box hollers, his faux voice carrying the words in a breathier, drawn tone of a poorly replicated accent, {I think --- he’s trying --- to _communicate!}_ A curt whistle sings sharply and wrecked in the scattered mind of the deranged prior to Yellow mockingly cooing in continuation at the bicolored champion, _{What is it,_ boy? _What is it?}_

A small chuckle chimes aloud intoxicatingly as the mirrored eyes of the hero falls away to his restraints. [Did Jack fall down the hill and into a well again?] In suit and company, Wade follows the stray gaze of the thin individual, witnessing the man twist and sway his arms and wrists in a show that lacks of a sense in purpose. {Do you want us to dope your reanimated, zombie monster that’s trying to _kill_ you?} Perplexity deepens behind the tight curtain hugging at the warden’s face, lolling his head against the rhythm that the champion’s wrists dance sweetly to. [You can’t be choking on a chicken bone ---- can he?] Frail delight simmers off the weepy man that hiccups unevenly towards the hired bullet that now offers a pout that puckers behind spandex to meet the image of pallid, masked eyes narrowing in stubbornness until a shimmer of brilliant colors enrapture his attention and shock perverts the previous expression of irritation.

_[{ **OH!** }]_

Hands, hugged tight in glossy black and smoothness, shoot to hold still Spiderman’ arms in a steady fashion, a grin breaking free and wide through the constricted face masking the killer’s true complexion as gentle movements maneuver the hero’s grips faintly. A rush of emotions swarm through the mercenary’s whole as the wider man witnesses anew the wiggling waves of pastel hues rippling brightly as accent to the bizarre, invisible shape bound neatly to the champion’s left wrist before vanishing altogether in repeat. Giddiness brings the mosaic of translucent blues and pasty violets back while Wade tilts the stolen holds of his friend again, figures of golds and brilliant limes playing homage to the frail lines of cerulean while the colors resurface in abstract about the absent plain as a loose appearance in frame before the light evaporates once more. A girlish squeal screams aloud as a beam of red spits from the arched ghost, the sound breaking unevenly and high.

_“Or, are you telling us that you have a phone call ~~~!”_ Wade squeaks piercingly as his finger taps childishly at the invisible object’s concealed form until the camouflage melts effortlessly away to expose the sharp pigment of the red communicator.

“We’hee get the coolest of toys,” Spiderman laughs amusedly in spite of a loose sob disturbing its wondrous flow.

“I’ll _say,”_ sings the paid murderer while his gloved digits diligently trim the thin object’s band in admiration, small ripples and frivolous designs guiding the unhinged felon’s touch around the smooth material used to maintain the device’s function despite the furious heat of battles its owner may find himself in and the uncontrollable environmental conditions that should badger him; _“Ou!_ This is so cool,” Wade calls as the cap of one of his finger’s sleeves snags on a hitch, leaving the mercenary to detach the communicator in gleeful confiscation, “I _want_ one! Do you think they got it in baby powder pink, yet?  
[It’ll be a nice way of showing our support for the lovely ladies in ribbon hot pink,] White hums appreciatively while his host examines every scratch and scar marring the smooth body of the wrist-bound phone.  
“Plus, it would be a great accent to our uniform,” Wade adds in smile, bring the small ring to eye level.  
_{Ou,_ how _fanc’cey,}_ Yellow croons.

“Wade,” the trio’s company calls, a betraying tone of desperation leaching into his playful, warning tenor as he watches the mercenary become overly distracted by the gadget’s exterior.

“Right, right,” chimes Wade, nodding in time with his chanting reply as he brings the communicator down to lap, “‘who’s calling Spidey?’” Neglectful hands turn the sleek mechanism in their hold about until the glossy screen illuminated by an image glares into the inattentive eyes of the criminal, “I got it. I kn---oh.”

[Oh, All-seeing Father,] White whines through a snarl while Wade stares down to the furious image of Spiderman’s caller, a powerful reluctance to answer flooding his sense and devastates him to a groaning child. A disquieted elicitation of worry filters noticeably through the thin, bicolored hero as unmoving seconds drag into concerning moments within the air of the contraption’s screeching voice. Swarms of the champion’s nervousness radiate profusely off his twitching form before a spurt of anxious apprehension propels the hero to his knees in a startling flash in an attempt to try and lean towards the communicator’s diminutive monitor, crying “What?” as he fails to capture a whole picture pass the curl structure of the mercenary’s coiled torso and head.

[It’s the All-Seeing Brother,] Yellow gripes in answer to the hero.  
“It’s Fury.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. _I_ have no fucking clue on what I'm talking about. Hope you had fun reading _that_ pile of steaming shit that got cut in half. Again. _Baaaaah't,_ it was the best I could squeeze out for this chapter. It also took awhile to even get _here_ & I am sorry for all the poor characterization and stuff. Admittedly a little disappointed in myself and, by result, what I've created, but I just decided that its best to not really care anymore. It's _GREAT!_ Burden lifting really. But, I do hope that it is _some_ what believable in the context of the internal debate's path.  
> (PS. _and_ I wasn't kidding on how I have no fucking clue on what I'm talking about here. I've read very little pertaining towards the comicverses and all I _do_ know is from some games, the movies, fan fictions, my own bull, and handmedown stories. Feel free to give me more!)  
>  (PPS. To those that don't know what "BLC" means, check out Hellsing Abridged by TFS. It's fun.)  
> (PPPS. Rvb rocks hardballs, too.)  
> (PPPPS. Bye. <3)


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